


The List

by Tari_Sue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-29
Updated: 2009-12-29
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tari_Sue/pseuds/Tari_Sue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco needs to get married before he turns 30 in order to claim an inheritance. With the help of his little black book and restaurant owner, Harry Potter, Draco dates as many women as possible in order to find the one worthy of being his bride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The List

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to the amazing Crazyparakiss, Oddnari and Winnett for their fabulous beta skills; this fic is so much better now thanks to them.
> 
> This is my entry for the 2009 hd_career_fair for dampfnudl’s wonderful prompt. 
> 
> The original, shorter, version of the fic can be found here:  
> http://community.livejournal.com/hd_career_fair/11116.html
> 
> This version has been improved beyond belief by the wonderful Winnett, who should probably get a co-author credit for all her hard work and invaluable help.

 

* * *

 

Name: Wendy Fitz Patrick  
Age: 24  
Occupation: Primary School Teacher  
Description: Pretty, blonde, petite – almost ideal candidate for a Malfoy! Irritating voice though. Like, really irritating.  
Family: Good old English family, pureblood line mostly untainted.  
Notes on the date: The waiting staff became extremely rude when they discovered I was a Malfoy. I think they over-charged me, especially as our food was cold! You’d think this treatment would better by now – the war ended over ten years ago and still I am treated appallingly! Wendy has one of those squeaky little-girl voices I can’t stand!  
Pros: Good looks, good family, plenty of money, not too stupid.  
Cons: The voice. She thinks I’m an idiot because I let them get away with treating me like that in the restaurant. In addition, her eyes are too close together.  
Score: 7/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

Name: Veronica St John  
Age: 26  
Occupation: Healer  
Description: 5ft 8, blonde, blue eyes. Um – good skin?  
Family: Top notch! These are the pure-bloods to beat all pure-bloods.  
Notes on the date: What date! They turned me away from the bloody restaurant and she went home in disgust! I’ll never get another date with her now; Mother is going to kill me.  
Pros: Good family, extremely wealthy  
Cons: She never wants to see me again. Her feet were massive anyway – like flippers.  
Score: 6/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

Name: Pauline McAlistair  
Age: 23  
Occupation: Student – studying for a Masters in Transfiguration.  
Description: Blonde, extremely pretty, curly hair, blue eyes – almost my height though!  
Family: So-so. A few impurities in the bloodline but they were quite some time ago. They have done their best to make up for it since (her father was a DE and is currently in Azkaban).  
Notes on the date: The Malfoy name is so unpopular in Wizarding England that I thought I’d take her to a Muggle restaurant. She was not impressed; seems the apple has not fallen far from the tree and she is not a Muggle-lover!  
Pros: Intelligent, so good for the gene pool.  
Cons: Trying to steer clear of the whole Death Eater thing, reputation already in ruins. Far too tall.  
Score: 5/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

Name: Genevieve DuBois  
Age: 22  
Occupation: Trainee Gossip Columnist for _Witch Weekly_  
Description: Short, dark-blonde hair, brown eyes, pretty-ish.  
Family: Very old family, not involved in the war on either side so nice and neutral!  
Notes on the date: Decided to risk Potter’s restaurant (Undesirable No.1, what a stupid name for a restaurant, is there no end to the man’s ego?) as he is in America opening restaurant No.2 (I wonder if they’ll call that one Undesirable No.2?). Haven’t tried it before as I didn’t want to risk running into Potter…  
Pros: Good family  
Cons:  Very young for her age, talks incessantly and for some reason seems to be obsessed with Potter. Does she not know that Potter is a poof? It’s not just something we used to sing at him for a laugh you know (well, actually, is was, but hey, turned out to be true!). Mouth is too big. Very thin – like a swizzle stick.  
Score: 7/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“I’m afraid we have no free tables, Mr Malfoy,” the hostess said smugly. “Undesirable No.1 is very popular. You really do have to book in advance.”

“I did book in advance; I booked a table weeks ago!” Draco said through gritted teeth. He did his best to remain calm but he couldn’t quite rein in his irritated tone.

“I’m sorry, but we are fully booked tonight. I have a table free…” she ran her finger down the page and then turned it over and kept going, “… two months Tuesday.” He didn’t imagine the glee in her voice at turning him away. A picture of seventeen-year-old Harry Potter smirked down at him from the original Undesirable No.1 poster on the wall.

“No! It has to be tonight. I have a date tonight, you see?” He gestured towards the petite blonde next to him. “Two months’ time is no good.”

“Well, there is nothing I can do about it. Good evening.” The waitress gave him a triumphant smile of dismissal that told Draco there had been no mix up with his reservation at all – they simply didn’t want ex-Death Eaters in this establishment. 

“Can we speak to the manager?” Genevieve asked innocently, fluffing her hair and looking around trying to catch a glimpse of said manager.

“No!” Draco said quickly. “Um, no need for that! I doubt he’s even in the country at the moment,” he blathered on, mentally kicking himself for coming here.

“Actually—” the waitress smirked at him.

“Actually, he got back from the States a day early,” Potter’s voice spoke up from behind them. “What seems to be the problem?” Draco barely covered his groan before plastering a smile onto his face and turned to greet the other man.

“There seems to be no record of our reservation,” he said, trying to be civil. Damn it all, what gave Potter the right to have grown into that jaw since Draco had last seen him? He could almost be considered good looking these days, especially with those broad shoulders in that suit! Almost.

“Yes, I’m afraid we don’t have a table available for this… _gentleman_ ,” the waitress didn’t even try to keep the contempt from her voice at that last word. She was obviously delighted that Potter was there to back her up. 

“I’m sure we must be able to squeeze Mr Malfoy and his date in somewhere, Rosanna,” Potter replied with a forced smile of his own. “Is my usual table free?”

“Harry, that one’s reserved,” the waitress hissed, now looked highly affronted. 

“Yes it is; reserved for me. As Draco and I went to school together I think he can be my guest, don’t you?” Potter was frowning a little now.

“You’re friends with _that_?” She looked appalled at the idea of her hero mixing with Death Eater scum like Draco Malfoy. “He’s a bloody Death Eater!” she whispered, obviously under the impression that Draco could no longer hear her.

“Do you think that I of all people am not aware of that, Zanna? Did you know that Draco and his mother saved my life twice during the war?” Potter said, drawing the waitress away from the guests slightly.

“Well, no, but…”

“I’ll not have prejudice in this restaurant,” Potter said firmly. “The war is over and we will not wage another one. If you have a problem with this you can speak to me in private later." The girl nodded and looked about ready to cry. Potter’s expression softened. “Take five, Zanna, I’ll cover for you out here.” He put a comforting arm around the girl and pushed her in the general direction of the kitchens. Draco sighed, he should have known Potter couldn’t keep up the ‘big tough boss’ routine for long.

After the hostess left, Potter turned back to Draco and Genevieve with his best professional air. “Sorry about that, Mr Malfoy, she takes these things a little personally," he said as he took their coats. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you to your table.” 

“Thank you, Potter.” Draco deliberately left off any ‘mister’ from Potter’s name; he wasn’t sure how to cope with the other man being civil to him, let alone offering them his own private table. 

They followed Potter to the other side of the restaurant and Draco took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. He had expected either ostentatious opulence or cheesy Muggleness, but was surprised to discover neither. The floor was polished oak and the light-coloured walls had some rather splendid frescos of various people, including Professors Dumbledore, Lupin and Snape. The windows, which were charmed to show a different location each night, looked out over the Grand Canal in Venice. If you listened hard enough, you could even hear the gentle lapping of the water.

“So, Draco, how have you been?” Potter asked as he held out a chair for Genevieve. Draco blinked and stared at him for a moment; he couldn’t remember hearing Potter use his first name before.

“I’m fine, thank you, Potter. And yourself?”

“Oh, I’m doing well enough, thanks.” Harry's grin reached his eyes. “Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?” 

“Certainly,” Draco scowled back at him. “Potter, this is Genevieve. Genevieve, Potter.” 

“Call me Harry, please.” Harry smiled as he shook the girl’s hand.

“Oh, well, it’s Gena!” she gushed grabbing at his hand and hanging on for dear life. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Harry! I can’t believe I’m actually meeting Harry Potter!” she simpered. “Draco, you never told me you knew The Chosen One!” To his credit, Potter blushed, which raised him slightly in Draco’s estimation. The fact that he actually looked rather attractive with the colour on his cheeks had no effect on Draco at all, obviously.

“Look, er, I have to get back to the other diners,” Potter said as he handed them menus. “It was good to see you again, Malfoy.” 

As soon as Potter disappeared, Genevieve started talking, “You never told me you were friends with Harry Potter! What’s he like?” 

“Oh yes,” Draco replied after a heartbeat, a cunning plan forming, “Potter and I go way back.”

 

* * *

 

Name: Jacinta Smythe-Bryant  
Age: 26  
Occupation: Model  
Description: Brunette. Medium height. Gorgeous.  
Family: Nouveau Riche. Need I say more?  
Notes on the date: One of Genevieve’s friends – the idiotic woman seems to have told all her friends that I know Harry Potter, which at least means I’m back in the game. Unfortunately, Genevieve’s friends are all about as bright as she is, and Jacinta may well be the worst of the lot! They seem to be a bunch of Potter fangirls. Again, why are these women all obsessed with a man who would probably break out in a cold sweat at the idea of touching them in a sexual manner?  
Pros: Very attractive.  
Cons: Brain the size of a pea. Her mother is very fat – I suspect it may be hereditary. Plus, she has strange ears.  
Score: 7/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

Name: Tiffany Beauchamp (n.b. pronounced Beach-um)  
Age: 25  
Occupation: Actress  
Description: Redhead. About 5ft 8.  
Family: Long line of squibs (Merlin forbid!), as far as I know.  
Notes on the date: Another friend of Genevieve, probably only here to meet Potter. Her head was on a permanent swivel trying to find the git, she reminded me of an owl. I kept expecting her to drop a letter in my dinner. The fact that the windows made it look like we were on top of Snowden made the bird impression even more realistic.  
Pros: Decent sense of humour.  
Cons: Fangirl. Ginger. Brown eyes. Freckles. Short neck.  
Score: 6/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

Name: Caroline Marchmont  
Age: 30  
Occupation: Breeds horses.  
Description: Horsy. Brownish/blondish hair, long face. Doesn’t take much care of her appearance.  
Family: Excellent. So good in fact that this one is already Mother approved – this whole disaster was her idea!  
Notes on the date: Her only topic of conversation is horses! This ‘gel’ is so posh she makes _me_ feel common!  
Pros: Mother likes her – probably thinks she is good breeding stock!  
Cons: If it looks like a horse, smells like a horse, and laughs like a horse, it probably is a horse! Enormous arse. Too Posh.  
Score: 4/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“…So anyway, Tarquin said _Dumbledore’s Boy_ was only fit for the knackers yard, which is quite simply preposterous, and I really don’t know what he would know about the matter anyway, he’s absolutely hopeless on a horse but he thinks he knows more about it than me, which is frightfully ridiculous because Daddy bought me my first pony when I was just a little gel and I’ve been riding ever since…”

Caroline Marchmont had to be the most boring woman on the planet, and Draco should know, he’d dated a fair few of them lately. If she didn’t stop to draw breath soon she would drop dead for want of oxygen, though her enormous gob would probably still keep talking even then.

“…I mean, we are a horse-loving family, Algernon was as good as born in the saddle; horses are practically in our blood, don’t yeh know!” Well, that would certainly explain the horsy face, tiny brain and massive backside, Draco thought as he stabbed at his piece of sirloin with his fork and pretended it was his date’s head.

“Is there something wrong with the steak?” an amused voice asked from behind him. “If it’s not up to standard I can take it back to the kitchen, although Chef may take it as a personal insult and bring down the wrath of the Irish on your head.”

“Um, no, no, the food is lovely, really!” Draco quickly stopped attacking his dinner and turned to face Potter. Finally! This was the third date he’d brought to Potter’s restaurant since last week and this was the first time Potter had actually been here since that first evening. What was the point of trying to impress his dates by knowing the Bloody Chosen One if said Bloody Chosen One couldn’t be bothered to put in an appearance? Moreover, this one wasn’t even part of the fangirl set! She probably couldn’t care less about Potter – he only had two legs and no tail, as far as Draco knew.

“Malfoy. So, who is your date this evening?” Potter asked, giving him a funny look.

“This is Caroline Marchmont, her parents are the Gloucestershire Marchmonts. They have a lovely estate near Tetbury.”

“What, Highgrove?” Potter looked like he was making a joke, but Draco wasn’t entirely sure what the joke was.

“No—” Draco started to say and then looked at his date in shock as she interrupted him.

“Oh, yes, we’re quite close to Highgrove actually. Daddy plays golf with Charlie; it’s all part of his Muggle Relations Programme, you know? And of course Princess Anne doesn’t live far away, Zara is a close personal friend of mine, and she’s not a bad horsewoman either!” Of course. Draco had heard that the Muggle Royals lived somewhere around there, come to think of it, but it hadn’t really interested him.

“Uh, right.” Potter looked perplexed. “So, are you Draco’s girlfriend then?” The man really was quite stupid.

“Oh, well, not quite! We only just met tonight; Mummy and Auntie Cissa thought we’d get on splendidly!” She was a stupid bitch too; why did she have to tell Potter every little detail of his life?

“You’re cousins?” 

“Distant,” Draco said quickly. “We’re very distant cousins, that’s all.”

“Oh lord yes, nothing indecent going on here!” Caroline snorted. Hell, she even laughed like a horse. “I say!” she peered at Potter with her watery blue eyes, “You’re that Potter chap, aren’t you?”

“Yes; you’re eating in my restaurant.” Potter looked irritated, no doubt miffed that she wasn’t fawning all over him. 

At that moment a loud crash came from the direction of the kitchen followed by a lot of swearing, although the only bit Draco could really make out was, “You stupid, fecking arse!” followed by further crashes.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner.” Potter gave them a tight smile before walking hurriedly towards the kitchen.

“I say, what a strange little place this is!” Caroline stated loudly. “And how very quaint, the windows look like we’re in Cornwall or something.” Then she went back to her food and her monologue about horses. 

Draco sighed in resignation.

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Angelica Betty  
Age: 18  
Occupation: Wants to be a model  
Description: Prettyish but nothing to write home about. A little on the chubby side, but could just be puppy fat.  
Family: Bunch of nobodies  
Notes on the date: Where the hell do I begin?  
Pros: Knows how to stand up for herself? Ambitious?  
Cons: Completely fucking mental. Tits are too big.  
Score: 0/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“Betty? I don’t think I’ve heard of the Bettys?” Draco was making a futile attempt at conversation – he honestly didn’t think he had a single thing in common with this girl.

“My father runs a haberdashery shop just off Diagon Alley,” she replied, sounding bored, as she reached for a breadstick. 

“Oh. Right. How very enterprising of him.” He wracked his brains for something else to say.

The stony silence was becoming intolerable. The girl was probably just way too young for him; they had absolutely nothing in common. She was into some sort of Muggle activity called ‘skateboarding’ that he’d never heard of, and she had something called an ‘Ex Box’, which made him wonder what it was now if it wasn’t a box anymore. She made him feel _old_ , and he was only 29! 

“So, Angelica, what do you do?” he desperately dragged out what he hoped was a safe topic of conversation.

“I’m a model, or trying to be anyway.” She started breaking the breadstick into tiny bits.

“A model? Interesting.” Draco reached for his rather expensive glass of red wine. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied defensively.

“Oh, well, nothing! I’m… I was just…” he attempted to backtrack.

“Just what?” She was glaring at him now.

“Nothing! Um, so what do you want to be if you can’t be a model?” Draco asked in his best placating voice.

“Why shouldn’t I be able to be a model?” It hadn’t worked.

“Well, er, it doesn’t always work out for everyone, does it? You know, contingency plans and all that…”

“Yeah, well what do you want to be when you get tired of being a prick?” Her voice was becoming quite loud and shrill; people were starting to stare.

“Being a prick is working out just fine for me, thanks,” he muttered, willing her to quiet down.

“Yeah? Well being a model will work out just fine for me!” No, that was actually louder.

“What if it doesn’t? I’m only suggesting a backup plan.” He was about to give up trying to be nice.

“Why shouldn’t it? Jacinta’s doing well!” 

“Yes, but Jacinta is beautiful.” Draco winced as he heard the words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. He’d been skirting around saying this and now he’d as good as blurted it out without thinking. 

“Are you saying I’m not beautiful?” she screeched indignantly. 

“It’s not that you’re ugly or anything, you’re actually quite pretty. But models usually tend to be stick-thin and gorgeous don’t they?” Draco's attempt to placate her only ended up digging a deeper hole. He didn’t even see the glass of wine coming until it was dripping from his hair and into his eyes.

“Well you’re no oil painting yourself are you? You’re just some skinny old Death Eater!” she screamed at him. “I only came out with you because Gena said you were friends with Harry Potter!” She leapt up from the table and grabbed her bag.

“What the fuck did you do that for? This is one of my best shirts! You insane fucking bitch!” he exclaimed in dismay as he mopped at his shirt.

“Insane am I? Well at least I’m not stupid enough to sit here any longer with an arrogant tosser like you!” With that said stormed out, leaving Draco with red wine dripping down his front.

“Malfoy, do you want to use my flat to get cleaned up?” an amused voice said from behind him. Typical, why was bloody Potter always around when he was at his worst? Grimacing, Draco got up and followed the bastard out.

*

“Will the wine stain your hair?” Potter asked innocently as he ushered Draco into his flat above the restaurant and closed the door.

“Stain my hair? I certainly hope not! Why should it stain my hair?” Draco was horrified; surely wine couldn’t stain hair?

“Well, because red wine stains everything; my Aunt Petunia wouldn’t let it in the house, they always drank white. I usually drink red now, I think it’s some sort of rebellion.” For some reason he seemed to think that Draco actually gave a crap about his ridiculous Muggle family.

“I’d have thought pink wine would have been more your sort of thing, Potter,” Draco replied snidely.

“I don’t mind some rosés, but I prefer a nice Chianti,” Potter said, making a strange fuffing noise with his teeth and sniggering. Damn, the pillock had been easier to wind up at school. 

“Well, where can I clean up?”

“The bathroom is just through there,” Potter led him through to the bedroom and pointed at the bathroom door. “I’ll lend you a shirt – it might be a little big across the shoulders and around the neck, but it will do until you get home.”

“You’re lending me a shirt? Why?” Draco asked suspiciously.

“Because you have red on you?” Potter sounded sarcastic. “Look, I assume you would rather not go around with a wet shirt on? Magic’s good, but that shirt is going to need house-elf attention if it’s ever going to be wearable again and if you dry it you’ll make it worse. Stop being a wanker.” Potter took a shirt from his wardrobe and tossed it at Draco. “Or you could always go shirtless.”

Draco glowered at him as he caught the shirt and did his best to walk into the bathroom with dignity. “No peeping, Potter. I know you’re probably just trying to get a sneak peak of me with no shirt on.”

“Yeah, in your wet dreams, Malfoy,” Potter laughed. Git.

Potter’s bathroom was a little on the small side, but surprisingly rather nicely done out in a mixture of black, white and chrome. Draco managed to get most of the red wine off him; his hair would be perfect once more with a proper wash and a few charms. Potter had a ridiculous number of washing products, nearly as many as Draco himself, although you’d never think it to look at the state of his hair. Although if Draco were honest, Potter’s hair really wasn’t looking that bad these days.

Unless Twiggy could work her own expert brand of house-elf magic upon his shirt, it was ruined, which he was more than a little pissed off about and would be sending the silly bint the bill. Potter’s shirt was indeed a little too big for him, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he hadn’t had to borrow trousers, because they would have been far too short.

He exited the bathroom and took a quick peek at Potter’s bedroom – a little on the small side and rather predictably decorated in cream and dark-red. The bed was massive, seemingly too big for the room, although the boxes everywhere didn’t help. It looked like Potter was either moving in or moving out, probably the later, Draco concluded, on the basis that the flat wasn’t very big.

The living room was comfortable-looking with a couple of large sofas facing some sort of big silver rectangle on the wall and a door going through to a kitchen. There were more boxes full of stuff in here, haphazardly packed and disordered. The tosser was still there, sitting at a smart desk writing something and prodding at some sort of muggle device with numbers. Draco managed to peer over his shoulder before Potter looked up and, for some strange reason, gave him a lopsided smile.

“So, I’m guessing you are either really good or really bad with women, and if tonight’s performance is anything to go by it must be the latter.” Potter shook his head and carried on writing, if that scrawl could be called writing.

“What makes you say that? I’ll have you know that I’m the perfect gentleman and women love me, which is more than I could say for you!” Draco folded his arms and glared at Potter.

“Women love me, Malfoy, I just don’t happen to love them – not in a sexual way anyway. If you are a perfect gentleman and women love _you_ however, then how come you seem to be in here with a different woman every night? And do I really have to remind you that your latest date poured a rather expensive glass of wine over you?” Potter smirked, a look which rather suited him.

“A minor glitch, I assure you. The woman is clearly insane.” Draco sniffed.

“Insane to have gone out with you in the first place?” Potter prodded a few more buttons on his Muggle device.

“Oh ha bloody ha. I don’t know how you cope with being so funny.” Draco surreptitiously peered over Potter’s shoulder to see what he was doing, briefly noticing the way the black hair curled at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know how you cope with such brilliant comebacks,” Potter muttered as Draco studied what Potter was doing.

“I don’t know how you manage to keep your business afloat when you can’t even remember to carry a number to the correct column!” he exclaimed. Honestly, what the hell was Potter trying to do here? 

“Huh?” Potter had adopted the trademarked confused look that Draco remembered from school.

“Your sums,” Draco indicated Harry’s scribblings, “they don’t add up, and they never will the way you’re trying to do them.”

“What’s wrong with the way I’m doing them?” Harry ran a hand through his hair making it stand up on end in a slightly adorable way, also reminiscent of school. Not that Draco found Harry adorable or anything, adorable wasn’t really a word he used at all…

“Budge up,” he sighed at Potter. He took Harry’s seat at the desk and started running a few arithmetic charms on the page, making adjustments in pencil as he went. Potter leant over him and watched every thing he was doing with fascination. Draco was a little disturbed by the nearness of the other man – he could smell his aftershave and even felt his inky hair tickle his ear. 

“That’s what’s wrong with the way you were doing it.” Draco quickly moved away and tried to will himself not to be affected by Potter. “Don’t you have an accountant to deal with this sort of thing?” 

“Yes, of course I do! I’m just having a little trouble getting hold of him at the moment so I thought I’d check the figures myself.” Potter looked slightly uncomfortable but Draco chose to ignore it.

“Well, you were doing a sterling job, well done!” Sarcasm was great.

“They don’t exactly teach maths at Hogwarts you know.” Potter bristled. Maybe he was still easy to wind up after all.

“Arithmetic. I went to the same school as you and I can do it,” Draco replied in his best smug voice.

“Git,” Potter mumbled.

“Funny way to pronounce ‘thank you’.” Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

Potter gave him a considering look. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Why do you care if my numbers add up though?”

Draco shrugged. “One good turn,” he indicated the shirt. “I guess I’m just not as dastardly as you like to think. Besides, yours is just about the only Wizarding restaurant in London that will let me through the door these days; can’t have you going under now, can I?”

Potter laughed, looking startled. “No, I guess you can’t. Um, look, Malfoy, I have some rather good single malt over here, if you’d care for one.” Potter gave him a shy smile that did funny things to Draco’s insides.

“Stop trying to hit on me, Potter. Just because I helped you with primary-level mathematics doesn’t mean I want into your pants.”

“No problem, Malfoy. Just because I’m homosexual doesn’t mean _I_ want in _your_ pants. So is that a no to the whisky?”

“I prefer Islay…”

“Talisker.”

“Close enough. It would be rude to say no, don’t you think?”

“Very.” Potter got up and routed a bottle of whisky and two glasses out of one of the boxes.

“I didn’t know you were a whisky man,” Draco said, watching him. 

“An ex-lover of mine was a Chaser for the Pride of Portree. He taught me to appreciate the finer aspects of whisky,” Potter said with a grin as he sat back down. 

“I don’t mind a nice drop of Talisker,” Draco found himself grinning back.

“So, are you going to tell me why you have a different girlfriend for every night of the week?” Potter asked as he poured two generous measures.

“Potter, just because I have condescended to drink your whisky does not mean that we are friends. Even if we were friends, I would not have to tell you all the minutiae of my life,” Draco said as he accepted the glass and took an appreciative sniff.

“So that’s a no then?” the nosy bastard pressed.

“You always were a nosy bastard, weren’t you?” Draco took a sip of his drink.

“Yup. My life could have been so much easier if, to quote Nev, I’d ‘learnt to keep me neb out’. Then again, Tom Riddle might still be running around killing people,” Potter said, sounding like an arrogant tosser.

“Oh, that’s right, play the ‘I killed a Dark Lord’ card. If you don’t mention it every five minutes someone might forget. Knowing about my marriage plans will not make the blindest bit of difference to you, Potter.” Draco scowled.

“Marriage plans?” Potter’s eyebrows went up. 

Bugger it, one sniff of whisky and Draco’d spill everything. “Oh for fffu—… look, Potter, if you must know, I’m getting married, ok?” It wasn’t exactly a secret, he just didn’t like telling Potter stuff.

“Right. Who to? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong here, but marriage normally suggests one girlfriend, not lots. Is this some sort of wild oats thing? Does your fiancée know?” Potter sounded indignant on behalf of some woman he’d never met and who didn’t even exist.

“I don’t have a fiancée,” Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. Conversation with Potter was trying at the best of times.

“Isn’t that a rather necessary component to a wedding?” Potter must have been being stupid on purpose to annoy him.

“Hence all the women,” Draco said slowly, as if explaining to a small child.

“Huh? So what, you’ve just decided that you want to get married now and you’re auditioning potential brides?” Potter sounded incredulous.

“Well, yes, I suppose you could put it like that,” Draco shrugged.

“I suppose the notion of falling in love and then deciding to get married is just too weird and Muggle for you?” Those green eyes were watching him like he was some sort of strange insect.

“Not at all. In an ideal world we would all fall in love and be able to marry that person, but in this little place I like to call reality – I don’t think it’s somewhere you visit often – we can’t always have what we want. I have to get married and produce an heir. If I want to claim my inheritance from Great Uncle Leopold, I need to be married by the time I’m thirty. So yes, I’m ‘auditioning’ potential brides. I will be thirty in June, I can’t afford to waste time.” How did Potter do this to him? Why did he always find himself telling the git every little thing?

“Why didn’t you just start looking sooner?” 

“Uncle Leo only died a few months ago, I wasn’t aware of this stipulation on my inheritance.” There was no point in fighting it, he might as well just spill.

“And do you really need the money that badly?” Potter sounded doubtful.

The smell of good food was wafting up from the restaurant down stairs, reminding Draco that he hadn’t had the chance to eat much of his dinner. “I don’t suppose I could get the rest of my dinner sent up here could I?” he replied, changing the subject.

“What?”

“My food? I had just ordered the monkfish when that silly little tart threw wine at me, I wouldn’t mind trying it,” he replied coolly, staring levelly at Potter.

“Fine! I’m sorry, ok? I am a nosy bastard, I fully admit it,” Potter laughed before summoning a rather decrepit looking house-elf and requesting two monkfish. “I can help if you want,” he continued, not letting it rest.

“Help with what?”

“Finding you a date of course.”

“How and why would you help me?” Draco didn’t care if he sounded suspicious, Harry Potter didn’t offer to help Draco Malfoy for no good reason.

“I know a lot of nice women who might be suitable. You can carry on bringing your dates here and I’ll turn on the whole ‘Boy Who Lived’ thing and big you up a bit.” 

“What makes you think I need your help?” Draco pretended to study the pile of Muggle books Potter seemed to be using as a coffee table.

“Well,” Potter’s eyes strayed to Draco’s damp hair, “things don’t look like they’ve been going too well from where I’ve been standing.”

“You still haven’t told me _why_ you want to help,” he said again.

“Call it a peace offering. Maybe you can help me with my accounts some time.” Potter gave him one of those puppy dog looks that seemed to get him whatever he wanted.

“I thought you said you had an accountant?”

“I do. He’s a bit, er, well, that is to say – I’m not sure he’s all that good.”

At that point the house-elf reappeared with food and cutlery for both of them and Draco suddenly realised, to his horror, that Potter didn’t have a dining table and he would actually be expected to eat this off his lap.

“Look, what have you got to lose? It’ll be fun.” Potter’s cheerful tone sounded a little forced as he picked up a fork and started to dig in to his fish.

“You and I don’t have fun together, Potter, and accounts are never for fun.” Draco picked up a fork with a look of distain and then made a point to pick up a knife as well. How could Potter run a classy restaurant with absolutely no table manners? Or even a table? “In case you have forgotten, we are not friends. Besides, Malfoys are not accountants.” 

“We could be, though, friends I mean, couldn’t we?” Potter persisted.

“Why?” 

“Why not?” The puppy-dog look again. Damn it.

“Ok,” Draco sighed, “Why not, as you say. You have yourself a deal, Potter. I’ll show you how to add up and you can make me look good. Sound fair? You should advertise this – ‘Come to Potter’s restaurant; get a bride and chips for under ten galleons!'”

“Would sir like anything on the side with that?” Potter asked with a snigger.

Draco forced a laugh and they shook on it. Draco ate the rest of his food in silence, still trying to convince himself that Potter had no effect on him.

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Beatrice Dalrymple  
Age: 24  
Occupation: none  
Description: Short dark hair, blue eyes.  
Family: Snooty bastards. Lord and Lady Snotty of Snooty Land.  
Notes on the date: YAWN! Beat is one of those people with a lot of opinions that she thinks everyone else should listen to and then agree with.  
Pros: She’s attractive – has nice hair and all her own teeth.  
Cons: YAWN YAWN YAWN! Too short. Too snooty. Too boring. She has those funny, cold blue eyes and a very big nose.  
Score: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“So, what was wrong with this one?” Potter raised his eyebrows. They were in Potter’s flat once more, sampling a rather nice twenty-one-year-old portwood Balvenie.

“Where should I begin?” Draco raised just one eyebrow in return.

“I thought you’d like Beatie!” Potter whined. “She’s attractive, she’s intelligent, she’s very well up on pretty much everything. Admittedly, she can be a little intense, but she means well. And she’s as pure-blooded as they come and a Slytherin. He folded his arms and actually looked a little sulky.

“She tried to convince me to vote for Adrian Pucey in the next election!” Draco exclaimed in self-defence, waving his arms in the air for emphasis. “Is that really the way you think a first date should go? When I told her that I remember Pucey from school and I wouldn’t vote for him if it were a contest between him and Fudge, she gave me an hour-long lecture on how Fudge was the worst Minister in history. I never even said I was voting for bloody Fudge, the man retired over a decade ago.” He shook his head to emphasise the idiocy of this.

“She just has issues she feels very strongly abo—”

“I _know_ ,” Draco interrupted. “She made sure to tell me all about them – all of them – over dinner. From Muggle Rights to rubbish disposal to space travel. I heard the _lot_.”

“No you didn’t,” Potter gave an exaggerated sigh. “You were nearly asleep when I walked past and asked if everything was all right with your meal. I only did it to stop your face from landing in your soup.” Potter’s eyes were twinkling – was the bastard laughing at him?

“Well that says it all really, doesn’t it? I was falling asleep and we were still only on the soup.” Draco grumbled.

“Actually, you still have some soup here.” Potter reached over and ran his thumb over the corner of Draco’s mouth to get the soup off before sitting back down looking completely unconcerned. Draco managed to restrain himself from licking Harry’s thumb – just. He took a large gulp of his whisky.

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Vanessa Menzies (n.b. pronounced ‘Mingy’)  
Age: 22  
Occupation: ~~Secretary~~ P.A.  
Description: Frizzy browny/blondy hair – looks a bit like Granger.  
Family: Scottish.  
Notes on the date: So we got off on the wrong foot when I mispronounced her name, then I mistakenly thought she was a secretary when it is apparently pronounced ‘Pee Aayyy’ these days.  
Pros: She has a nice backside – it’s good to see it leave!  
Cons: Stupid, stuck-up, know-it-all cow. Too tall – can’t have a wife taller than me! Eyes are too far apart. Really bad teeth.  
Score: 5/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“Oh come on, you can’t possibly have disliked Nessa; everyone loves her! She’s beautiful, funny, smart. If I were into girls, I’d date Ness like a shot.” Potter was shaking his head with a general air of disbelief as he shot off cleaning and tidying spells around the restaurant. It was after hours and Potter had sent everyone home for the night as he finished off.

“Yeah, well you’re not into girls, are you? So what the bloody hell would you know?” Draco scowled at him, he hated people talking down to him. He had been allowed to remain in the restaurant, perched by the bar, and give Potter the details of his miserable date as he cleared up.

“I know she’s a good friend, so just watch your mouth.” Evidently, nobody had ever told Potter that it was rude to point a wand at people as he swung round and did just that.

“She’s a stuck-up cow.” Draco leant back against the bar and crossed his legs. Potter baiting really was fun.

“That is a bit rich coming from a Malfoy!” Potter started with the righteous indignation, hands on his hips in a classic Mudblood Granger pose.

“She is a puritanical, black-hatter! She looks down her nose at everyone because they are not as pure and noble and bloody Scottish as she is. You missed a bit.” Draco indicated the bar he was leaning against where Potter hadn’t yet cleaned. 

“That sounds racist to me, Malfoy.” Potter shot a spell at the bar, sweeping off everything which wasn’t supposed to be on it, including Draco who nearly fell off his stool.

“My Great Grandmother was Scottish, I’ll have you know.” He glared at Potter as he adjusted his suit jacket and tried to make it look like he intended to stand up. 

“So why do you have such a problem with Nessa being Scottish?” Potter’s wand directed a broom to start sweeping the floor.

“I don’t have a problem with her being Scottish! I don’t like people who look down their noses at me for being English, or for being me.” Draco crossed his arms across his chest and tried not to look petulant. “If I’m racist then so is she. Moreover, she may be a wonderful friend to you, but she thinks you should be ‘cured of your homosexuality’ with the ‘love of a good woman’, did you know that? Apparently, it is just laziness.” He’d like to see Potter stick up for the stupid cow now.

“Her parents were Muggles; it’s just the way she was brought up.” Potter plonked himself down on the stool next to Draco – obviously, he would stick up for anyone who wasn’t a Malfoy. 

“Really? I bet Granger doesn’t think that. I seem to remember getting into a hell of a lot of trouble for acting ‘the way I was brought up’. If I can get over it then so can she.” Draco put on his best smug face.

“You know, you’re kind of cute when you sulk.” Potter ruffled Draco’s hair. Unbe-bloody-lievable! 

“Poof.”

“Git.”

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Jemima Alderney  
Age: 26  
Occupation: Artist  
Description: Straight black hair cut into a short bob. Blue eyes, fair skin. Very striking. Slim but not too skinny.  
Family: The Alderneys of Alderney.  
Notes on the date: I love this girl, I’d marry her tomorrow! She reminds me of Pansy. She has a wicked sense of humour and is extremely intelligent. Unfortunately, she is not really into men and only came on the date to keep her father happy. Pity.  
Pros: Brilliant, funny, clever, beautiful, gorgeous.  
Cons: Dyke.  
Score: 9/10 (point off for not finding me attractive!)  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“Well of course Jem is gay, she doesn’t make a secret of it!” Potter laughed as he glanced over Draco’s shoulder. They were in Potter’s poky flat again as Draco looked over the accounts.

“She shouldn’t lead a chap on! Why did she agree to the date if she had no chance of being interested?” Draco folded his arms indignantly.

“Maybe same reason you did – didn’t your mothers organise this one?” Harry reached over and plucked a stray blond hair off Draco’s shoulder.

“That’s not the point. Get me another drink.”

“Help yourself. You can fill me up too.” Potter grinned at him. Draco felt his cheeks heat up at the innuendo and quickly turned his attention back to the accounts.

“You know, Potter, these accounts really don’t make much sense.”

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Euphemia De Montfort  
Age: 22  
Occupation: Florist  
Description: Blonde, bubbly, petite.  
Family: What can I say, they’re the De Montforts. Doesn’t get much better than that!  
Notes on the date: There is touchy feely and then there is touchy feely! I do not appreciate being groped! Especially not in public!  
Pros: Great family, very pretty.  
Cons: The woman cannot keep her hands to herself! I feel violated! Huge tits, not a fan of huge tits, they get in the way. Especially when she is otherwise so damned skinny!  
Score: 6/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

They were just eating their main course when Draco felt a foot slide up his leg. He nearly dropped his fork. He glanced at his date who seemed to be quite innocently eating pasta beside him. He’d been irritated enough when she’d dragged her chair around to be closer to him rather than opposite anyway; now it seemed the goal had been so she could cop a feel.

A few minutes later, there was a hand on his knee. Just sitting there, on his knee. He decided to ignore it and hoped she would get the hint, which turned out to be a mistake.

The hand started to inch higher. Draco was left in a predicament. If he continued to ignore her, she would eventually make it to his crotch, but if he mentioned it, how would he explain the fact that he’d ignored it in the first place? And this was a respectable restaurant, even if it did belong to Potter, he could hardly jump up and screech, ‘unhand me, wench!’. What was one supposed to say in these circumstances anyway? ‘Excuse me, you seem to have misplaced your hand’? ‘You appear to have a hold of my cock’? 

In the end, Draco did the only thing he could do – he bolted to the gents’. Potter found him there ten minutes later, trying to transfigure the window into a door.

“I think you should know that my restaurant is protected against transfiguration attempts, so please leave my windows alone.” Potter leant back against the doorframe wearing that amused expression he always seemed to have around Draco these days. “Your date is looking a little lonely, and as the charms are of the Taj Mahal tonight, she is doing rather a good Princess Di impersonation.”

“Is she? Good. Who’s Princess Di?” Draco figured she was probably some Muggle but really didn’t care.

“Don’t be catty.” 

“I’m operating in the interests of self-preservation. Actually, I’d rather she wasn’t lonely, I rather she found someone else to grope. There, happy?” Draco kicked the wall in exasperation.

“Ok. Well you can at least go an tell her you don’t think it’s going to work out, rather than trying to do a runner like some sort of cowardly little arsewipe.” Potter straightened up to his full height, which wasn’t very impressive.

“You’re the bloody Gryffindor, you tell her.” Draco moved forward and poked Potter in the chest.

“She’s not _my_ date!” Potter protested.

“She’s _your_ friend,” Draco pointed out.

“Actually, she’s Seamus’s friend,” Potter stated, looking triumphant.

“Finnegan? You discussed this with Finnegan?” Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at Potter, making the little midget take a step back so that he was pressed against the doorframe. How dare he discuss Draco’s business with that poncy little Irishman!

“He wanted to know why you were eating here so much; I told him you were looking for a girlfriend.” Potter said, holding his hands up as though that made it ok that he’d been sharing details of Draco’s private life with his stupid friends. 

“How did he know I was coming here in the first place? Do you sit around with your friends and talk about me?” Draco asked crossly. He glared at another patron who chose that moment to walk into the bathroom; the man left hurriedly.

“Why yes, we have no other topic of conversation actually.” Draco assumed that was supposed to be sarcasm, Gryffindors were shite at sarcasm, nearly as bad as Americans; not that he knew any Americans. “Seamus is the chef. He cooks your dinner; didn’t you realise that?” Potter continued, frowning at Draco. 

“I’m surprised he hasn’t blown the place up!” Draco said, aghast, taking a step back and bumping against a urinal, which promptly instructed him to wash his hands. “What on earth possessed you to employ Finnegan?”

“I didn’t have much choice, he’s my partner!” Harry laughed, flicking on a tap to shut the urinal up. There was a sudden funny feeling in the pit of Draco’s stomach. “Anyway, he happens to be very good, or have you not enjoyed your food here?” 

“It’s not bad I suppose.” Draco had to admit that, before he discovered the identity of the chef, he’d thought the food excellent. He was stung by the news that Potter had a lover – he’d been half convinced that Potter was flirting with him, but it would seem not. Not that he cared or anything…

“Good, well you’d better get back to your date then before word gets around that you hang out in men’s toilets with a known homosexual!” Potter laughed as he steered Draco towards the door.

To his relief, Euphemia had got the hint by the time he got back to the table, although she kept shooting glares between him and Potter.

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Effie MacRae  
Age: 29  
Occupation: Teacher  
Description: Brown hair, brown eyes. Tall.  
Family: A fairly prestigious Highland Clan.  
Notes on the date: Went well enough. I quite like her, she is smart and funny. Apparently she teaches my cousin, Teddy.  
Pros: Top personality.  
Cons: Not the prettiest of girls and far too tall. Tits are too big (is that a nice way of saying fat?) and she has brown eyes. I quite like dark hair, but nice striking black hair, like Jemima, not boring brown like Effie. Also, too old.  
Score: 7/10 (all on personality)  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“What’s wrong with Effie? I thought you two would get on, she totally has your evil sense of humour!”

“I do not have an evil sense of humour!” Draco huffed as he threw himself onto Harry’s sofa, which was finally devoid of boxes. He never did come up with a good way of asking about the whole box situation and why Harry was living in this crappy flat. Were they friends now? Was it ok to ask? Or had he left it too long, would it look really weird if he asked now that the boxes were gone? Fucking protocol.

“Seriously?” Harry handed him a Laphroaig with an amused look. Why did the bugger always look amused when he looked at him? He was supposed to look intimidated.

“Well, not _that_ evil. Look, your friend is lovely – I wish we’d had Defence teachers like her rather than some of the nutters we did have – but can you honestly see her as Mrs Malfoy? I think not. Besides, she has brown hair.”

“Have you ever thought you might be too picky? We can’t all be as pretty as you.”

“Did you just call me pretty?”

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Cecily O’Dowd  
Age: 25  
Occupation: Mediwitch  
Description: Nice curly blonde hair, brown eyes. Medium height.  
Family: Good old Irish family.  
Notes on the date: Quite liked this one. Unfortunately, she seems to be of the misguided opinion that Cecily should be shortened to Cissy.  
Pros: Intelligent, witty (evidently a Ravenclaw), pretty, fun.  
Cons: I refuse to be intimate with anyone with the same (shortened) name as my mother! Really noisy eater.  
Score: 7/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“Oh come on Malfoy, Cecily is fun, smart _and_ pretty. I was so confident with this one!” Harry exclaimed in exasperation as he put their drinks down on the pub table. It was Potter’s night off and they’d met up in the Leaky Cauldron after Draco’s date.

“She’s very nice, Potter, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” Draco sighed, checking to make sure the glass was clean before taking a sip.

“What’s wrong with her then? She even has blonde hair!” Potter pulled up a chair and took a long sip of his beer.

“Her eyes are brown.” Draco was doing his best not to look at Potter’s beer-foam moustache.

“You have got to be kidding me? You’re turning her down because her eyes are brown?” Potter was giving him one of those looks that said he thought Draco was slightly insane.

“That and the name thing.”

“What name thing?”

“Come on, Potter! She has the same name as my mother! That would just be too weird!”

“Your mother’s name is Narcissa, not Cecily,” Harry said, slowly, as though explaining it to a child.

“Cissy. They’re both Cissy, you pillock.” Draco gave him a playful smack about the head.

“Ah.” Harry pretended to rub where Draco had hit him, but his laughter gave him away. 

“And she sounds like a pig when she eats,” Draco added.

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Luna Lovegood  
Age: 28  
Occupation: Musician  
Description: Insane. Blonde, blue eyes, medium height.  
Family: I think we’re cousins somewhere along the line, but since when has that ever stopped pure-bloods?  
Notes on the date: I have a feeling Loony Lovegood was not Harry’s original choice of blind date for me tonight – he can’t possibly hate me that much! It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her exactly, she’s just Lovegood! I get the impression that she was there to do Potter a favour.  
Pros: Pretty. Kind.  
Cons: Odd.  
Score: 5/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“I remember you from school. You weren’t very nice, were you?” Luna gave him one of those unfathomable looks that slightly bothered him. Maybe she had a point – Mad Auntie B had locked her in the cellar for ages after all. He pretended to study the menu so he wouldn’t have to look at her, although he knew this menu pretty well by now,

“I don’t think I ever even spoke to you.” He glanced up and gave her his most winning smile, the one that even worked on that old cow Umbridge. It had no effect.

“I think that proves my point rather than yours don’t you? It’s the nargles you know, they made you cranky. Harry always liked you though, not that I think he ever realised it. Do you think the haggis is freerange? I wouldn’t like to think the poor little things had suffered. Do you like Harry?” Luna’s conversation flowed from topic to topic in a way that gave Draco a headache trying to follow it.

“Potter is all right I suppose. A haggis is not an animal.” He signalled the waiter over, desperate to get this over with a fast as possible.

“Yes, that’s what I thought. You’d make a very attractive couple, you know. There were haggis in the forbidden forest at Hogwarts, they’re very shy.”

“I’m not gay.”

“You’re strange.” She shut her menu and smiled benignly at him before the mushroom stroganoff from the specials board.

*

“Just no, ok Potter? Don’t even go there.”

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Annie Jones  
Age: 27  
Occupation: Herbologist  
Description: Short, mousy brown hair, nice smile.  
Family: Mudblood! Potter has set me up with a bloody Mudblood!  
Notes on the date: This girl is a friend of Longbottom’s, I can just tell.  
Pros: Clever  
Cons: Mudblood, boring, Mudblood, boring.  
Score: 4/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“She’s the female Longbottom.” Draco complained as he stretched himself out on Harry’s sofa and waited for Potter to refill his glass.

“What’s wrong with Nev?” Potter paused in the middle of pouring drinks, looking indignant on his friend’s behalf.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“This isn’t working, is it?” Potter sighed. 

“No. Whisky?” Draco replied waving his glass in Potter’s direction.

Potter did as he was told and finished pouring two generous measures of Balblair into the glasses before moving Draco’s feet off his sofa and plonking himself down in their place. Draco huffed indignantly at this treatment and stuck his feet in Potter’s lap instead.

“So, what are we going to do about it?” Potter enquired, resting his glass on Draco’s shin.

“What are we going to do about what?” 

“The fact that you now have just over six months left to find a wife and get married. You seem to hate just about every woman I send your way – and they don’t think much of you either.” 

“Well, they should,” Draco said distractedly, trying to ignore the feeling of Potter’s hand resting on his leg, and other parts of Potter under his feet – he really hadn’t thought that move through. “They’d be bloody lucky to land a catch like me!” 

“Yeah? Why don’t you just put an advert in the paper then? ‘ _Wanted: gold-digger, must be intelligent, witty, brilliant and beautiful. Ability to put up with a hell of a lot an advantage_ ’, they’ll be queuing around the block.” Potter smirked at him.

“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you, Potter?” Draco glowered back

“Yup.”

They sat drinking in a companionable silence for a while. Draco glanced around the room, it was looking better now that when he’d first come here and there were fewer boxes littering the place, although Draco couldn’t figure out where Potter had found room for all the stuff in this poky flat.

“Look, it’s Charlie’s wedding anniversary on Saturday, they’re having party, why don’t you come?” Harry said, eventually, looking at Draco’s feet rather than his face.

“I’m not going on a date with you, Potter.”

“It’s not a date, idiot. I just thought that you might stand a better chance at a party, let your hair down, and get to know women in a less intense setting.” Potter shifted self-consciously and pushed Draco’s feet off him. 

“There’s nothing wrong with my hair!” Draco ran a hand over his hair to check it was immaculate.

“I never said there was, it’s a Muggle expression.” Potter sighed. “I just think you might be more yourself in a more relaxed environment. You can get to know these girls rather than practically holding job interviews.”

“I know enough about them to know whether or not they’d be any good.”

“Oh really, and what is your criteria for the perfect candidate for the job of Mrs Malfoy?” Harry joked.

“Just the usual: looks, intelligence, family, personality.” Draco ticked the points off on his fingers.

“Oh god, I bet you have some sort of a list or something, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do. How else am I supposed to grade them properly?” Draco shook his head; no wonder Potter never got anywhere if he thought making lists was silly rather than sensible.

“You _grade_ them?” Harry sounded incredulous.

“This is a very important decision!” Draco defended. Honestly, Potter made it sound like he shouldn’t take the most important decision of his life seriously!

“Let me see.” Potter held out his hand.

“What? No! I’m not showing you, you’ll just laugh at me anyway.” He folded his arms and looked sulky.

“If I’m going to laugh anyway then it won’t hurt to show me, will it?”

“I’m not showing you the book, Potter. Fuck off.”

“Ok.” Potter shrugged and looked away. Draco was surprised that he’d given up so easily, but chalked it up as a victory and took another sip of his drink. The next thing Draco knew, Potter has his wand out and was _accioing_ his little black book from his pocket.

“Give that back, you total bastard!” Draco leapt up, spilling whisky on his trousers.

“No, I want to know what was so very wrong with all of those girls.” Potter opened the book.

“Potter…” he made a grab for the book but Potter held it away from him.

“Too posh? Too _posh_? How the hell can _you_ , Draco Malfoy, have the cheek to call someone else too posh? I’m mean; you probably have gold toilets at home!” Harry held a hand against Draco’s chest to keep him from the notebook.

“Honestly, Potter, that would be terribly crass,” Draco replied, making another grab for the book, but Potter moved out of his way again, laughing.

“I rest my case. Too fucking posh for gold loos, but apparently not as posh as,” Potter consulted the book, “Caroline Marchmont. And, Draco, that poor woman did not look like a horse!”

“Yes she fucking did! She ate like a horse too. She also laughed like one and had an arse like one.” Draco shuddered at the idea of being married to Caroline Marchmont. “Give me the sodding book back, you bastard.” Where had he left his wand, anyway? Bugger, it was sticking out of his cloak pocket, he could see it from here. 

“All right then, what about Jacinta Smythe-Bryant? ‘Brain the size of a pea’, do they have to take an I.Q. test?”

“I can’t marry and imbecile, can I?” Draco scowled and sat back on the sofa with his arms folded. Let the bastard have the book, see if he cared. Maybe if he inched sideways he could reach his wand…

“Wow, you are really critical of appearance, aren’t you?” Potter was still flicking through the book.

“Not especially, no,” replied Draco defensively. 

“Yeah? ‘Nose is too big’, ‘mouth is too big’, ‘too short’, ‘too tall’, ‘too thin’, ‘too fat’, ‘Tits are too big’. I mean, can tits even be too big to a straight bloke? I thought it was meant to be the bigger the better? Reading this you sound more gay than I am!” Potter was now giving him a really odd look.

“Of course tits can be too big! I am _not_ gay, Potter, I’m a pure-blood!” Draco exclaimed, looking down his nose at Potter – an easy task because Potter was a short-arse.

“What the fuck has that got to do with anything? I assure you, there are plenty of gay pure-bloods!” Potter was now doing that annoying ‘Draco is a pillock’ head shake thing.

“No there aren’t! Homosexuality is a Muggle invention; pure-bloods are above such things!” he replied stubbornly.

“What about Charlie Weasley? Or Johnny Bulstrode? Or even Jemima Alderney for that matter!” Harry was now giving Draco his best earnest look.

“I thought you said we were going to Weasley’s wedding anniversary?”

“We are – his and his husband’s, Angelo De Vittri, also a pure-blood. Stop changing the subject.”

Draco was quiet for a moment before replying, “I remember when Johnny Bulstrode came out. It was the summer between our third and fourth year at Hogwarts, just before the Quidditch World Cup. Mrs Bulstrode brought Millie to our house so that she could cry on my mother’s shoulder. She was devastated; she said that she would never have grandchildren.” He remembered wondering why anyone would choose to be homosexual if it meant upsetting their family like that. 

“She was just upset and being melodramatic! There are ways for homosexuals to have children, Charlie and Angelo are looking into adoption, for example, or there’s surrogacy. Besides, even if Johnny had been straight, he wouldn’t necessarily have had children, and what about Millie anyway?”

“Millie isn’t the prettiest of girls; I don’t think they hold out much hope of her ever getting married." She wouldn’t thank him for telling Potter any of this. When her mother had come out with that little gem she’d disappeared for ages. He finally found her out by the folly pretending to be fine.

“Really? Someone ought to tell Dean Thomas that, he thinks she’s gorgeous.” A mischievous look appeared on Harry’s face as he contemplated what seemed to be his favourite hobby – matchmaking.

“Does she know?” Draco decided to humour him; Millie could do with finding a decent bloke and Thomas hadn’t exactly been hit with the ugly stick.

“I don’t think so. I guess you could always bring her to Charlie’s party…” there was a wicked gleam in Harry’s eye that said he was about to get his own way.

“They disowned him, Harry.” Draco said quietly after a pause.

“Huh? Who?” Harry looked confused at the abrupt change of topic.

“Johnny. Pretty much as soon as they found out he was seeing a man they disowned him. So you see, he’s not a pure-blood anymore, he’s not anything. By rights, he shouldn’t even still be using the name Bulstrode. It was horrible.” Draco stared into the bottom of his glass.

“So pure-blood homosexuals should just hide who they are instead?”

“No. They should just not choose to be gay.”

“You don’t choose it. You are born gay; there is nothing you can do about it. Although to be honest, I wouldn’t change if I could – I like fucking men.” Potter looked pissed off.

“This isn’t a personal thing against you, Harry. You can choose whether to act on those feelings or not. Not everyone is the Chosen One; not everyone can get away with doing whatever they want.” Draco grabbed the whisky bottle and poured himself another. 

“Right. Tell me, Draco, do you have those feelings?” Potter grabbed Draco’s wrist as he raised the glass to his lips.

“What feelings?” He snatched his hand away and downed the drink in one, relishing the burn down the back of his throat.

“The ones you have to suppress. The ones you have to lie to yourself about. The ones you will presumably be lying to your future wife about.” Potter was full of righteous indignation now, and he sounded almost exactly like Granger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I don’t have feelings; I’m not perverted like you.” Draco thumped his glass down on the coffee table and turned to glare at Potter.

“Really? So you won’t wake up in a few years’ time and wonder why you can’t get it up for your wife? Why she’s miserable, why you’re miserable, why your kids are miserable? Because if you are planning on getting married, this won’t just be about you, will it? It’ll be about her too!” Harry glared back at him.

“I’m NOT gay! How many times do I have to tell you that?” Draco rose from the sofa picked up his cloak; he didn’t need to listen to this. Finally drawing his wand, he _accioed_ his list and stuffed it back in his pocket.

“How many times do you have to tell yourself that?” Potter rose too and walked toward him.

“I have to think about my family!”

“And their expectations are more important than your happiness?”

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t even have a family, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about? You trying coming out when you are the sodding ‘Boy Who Lived’. You think I can get away with doing whatever I want? There are people I’ve never met who will never forgive me for being gay! People think I’m some sort of role model or hero or whatever other shite they want to pin on me. I can’t do whatever I want; I’m supposed to do whatever the entire Wizarding World wants! No, I might not have a family, I have no idea whether or not they would have had a problem with my sexual orientation, but I do know what it’s like to try and live up to other people’s expectations.” Potter’s eyes were bright and he was breathing heavily; Draco was not turned on in the slightest.

“Disappointing people whom you love is a bit different than disappointing people you don’t know. I love my family, Potter, and I’m not gay. I’m going home; I don’t need your help anymore. Goodbye.” He pulled his cloak on and wrenched the door open.

“You’re not gay?” Potter put a hand on the door, preventing him from leaving. 

“No.”

“Not at all?” Potter was standing very close to him now and there was a strange glint in his eye.

“No.” Draco was feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he tried to back away and nearly fell over one of the damned boxes; maybe they weren’t completely gone after all. Potter reached out to steady him.

“You won’t be at all affected by me doing this then.” 

Before Draco knew what was happening, Harry had leant forward and pressed his lips to Draco’s. He was too stunned to move at first but then he forcefully pushed Potter away.

“You kissed me!” he spluttered, staring at Harry, unsure of how to act.

“I know.” Harry’s big green eyes were staring at him intently through his glasses.

“Why?” Draco unconsciously raised his hand to his lips.

“Why not?” Harry feigned a casual shrug.

“But I told you I wasn’t gay!” Belatedly, Draco rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth.

“So it shouldn’t have bothered you. You can leave now, but think about that kiss, think about how it felt to be kissed by a bloke and whether or not you liked it. If the answer is yes, you might want to rethink your marriage plans.” Harry was holding the door open for Draco to leave.

“I can’t do that…” Draco stared blankly at the open door and then looked at Harry.

“Just think about it, that’s all I ask.” Harry started to raise his hand to Draco’s face but then dropped it. 

Draco nodded absently and made his way to the door.

“I’ll see you at Charlie’s party on Saturday, it’s at the Burrow. Don’t forget to bring Millicent. If you’re still one hundred per cent sure that you aren’t gay then, I’ll drop it, ok?” 

Draco nodded again and went home in a daze.

* * *

He couldn’t get rid of the feel and taste of Potter from his mouth.

It hadn’t even been a proper kiss, no tongues, nothing. Just a press of lips.

So why was it haunting him? It had been two days!

‘Because if you weren’t gay it wouldn’t have affected you,’ a treacherous little voice that sounded like Potter said at the back of his brain. He thumped his pillow and lay back down.

“But I’m not gay,” he said aloud to the empty room. “I’m not, I can’t be. I’ve always dated women. And now the wanker has me talking to myself.” He sighed and rolled over.

This was stupid. Potter had wanted to prove that Draco was gay; he probably thought everyone was gay. All he seemed to have done was prove that Draco was obsessed with Harry Potter.

‘Nothing new there then,’ said the voice in his head. He rolled onto his other side.

He didn’t want Potter. He was going to get married and do what was expected of him. He _didn’t_ want Potter. He couldn’t, besides Potter was with Finnegan. 

Not that that made a difference, of course. Because he didn’t fancy Potter. He pulled the pillow over his head to try and smother the voice.

* * *

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Good morning to you too, Malfoy,” Harry said with that funny little lopsided grin that was just so damned _Gryffindor_ , glancing down from where he was kneeling on a table writing the specials on the blackboard.

“I said why did you kiss me?”

“I know, I heard you.” Harry carefully underlined the word ‘puddings’.

Draco waited a heartbeat but Harry still didn’t seem inclined to answer his question.

“Well?”

Potter shrugged halfway through the word ‘syllabub’, making it go wonky. “I wanted to. It seems to have you a tad bothered. Why is that I wonder?” 

“I’m not bothered! Anyway, what about Finnegan?”

“Seamus? He’s off sourcing ingredients. So you wouldn’t object if I did it again?” Harry put down his chalk and turned to face him.

“Of course I would! I’m not gay! If I were gay it wouldn’t bother me!” He stamped his foot in frustration.

“But you just said it didn’t bother you.” Harry said as he jumped down off the table. 

“It doesn’t!” Draco glanced towards the kitchen, hoping no one was in there listening.

“Which is it, Draco? Bothered or not bothered?” Potter walked towards Draco. 

Draco gulped and said nothing.

“See, I think you liked it,” Harry said quietly, invading Draco’s personal space. “I think you’ve been thinking about it since last night and you liked it, which bothers you because you can’t possibly like being kissed by a man.”

“You are talking out of your arse.” For some reason, he couldn’t make his legs move away.

“Hmm, spend a lot of time thinking about my arse, do you?”

“No!”

“I bet you do. I bet you lie awake at night thinking about what you’d like to do to my arse. Or you will now, anyway. You know what? I’d probably let you.”

“You bottom?” Draco asked before he could stop himself. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought Potter would willingly let him do that.

“I didn’t say that.” Potter pulled away abruptly and Draco felt a twinge of disappointment. “But since you mention it, yes,” he smirked, “so long as my partner is prepared to give up his snow-white arse on occasion too.”

Draco gulped. “I er, I have an appointment.” He turned and almost ran out of the door.

* * *

  


 

* * *

 

Name: Tori Greengrass  
Age: 27  
Occupation: Lawyer.  
Description: Well, she’s Daph’s baby sister, she looks like a thinner version of Daph. Wavy blonde hair, green eyes, rosy cheeks – really pretty actually, she has improved enormously since she used to be that little pest who followed us around everywhere.  
Family: The Greengrasses did quite well during the war – they kept out of it just enough that neither side had a problem with them and yet they still managed to make money.  
Notes on the date: I actually had a really good evening, I wonder if Daphne would kill me for marrying her little sister? She’s intelligent and really funny and great company. Plus, she’s really pretty, so Potter was clearly wrong, how can I be attracted to him if I’m attracted to Astoria? I knew he was wrong.  
Pros: Brilliant, beautiful, fun, clever, rich, good family. Gorgeous eyes.  
Cons: Great-Great Grandfather was Muggleborn, but that can probably be overlooked.  
Score: 9.5/10  


   
  
---  
  
 

* * *

*

“Do you remember that time my mother took us all to Hogsmeade for Daph’s tenth birthday?” Tori asked, flashing her perfect white teeth at him.

“What, when Pants, Theo and I tried to put you on the Hogwarts Express back to London?” he laughed in response as a surly waiter thumped two bowls of pasta in front of them.

“Daphne went crying to Mum and you all got such a telling off!”

“You think that was bad? You didn't hear the bollocking I got when I got home!” He was feeling decidedly guilty for the terrible Muggle restaurant he’d taken her to in an attempt to avoid Potter.

“The stupid thing was that I wasn’t upset in the slightest – I thought it was all a huge adventure, I’d never been in a train station before.” Tori laughed again and took a bite of pasta, pulling a face at it as she did so.

“Daph was always such a little snitch though; she got Pants and me into trouble more times than I can possibly remember,” Draco said before bravely sampling his own food. It was disgusting.

“Pansy usually got her own back though.” Astoria delicately pushed the plate away, reminding Draco of Narcissa. “Yet when we got older and Pansy and Daph were sneaking off to meet boys, they always expected everyone else to keep their secrets. Daph never landed us in it on purpose though; she’s just hopeless at keeping her gob shut.”

“Actually, that time at the train station I think she really thought I was going to put you on the train by yourself.”

“You _were_.” She playfully swatted his arm.

“I wasn’t! We were just winding you up. And Daphne.” He tried his best to look innocent.

“Whatever you say.” She took a sip of wine and shrugged. “You know, I was a bit surprised to find you were looking for a wife, I always thought you were gay.” He couldn’t figure out if she was winding him up or no.

“What?” he spluttered. “What on earth made you think that? I’m not gay!” Draco could feel the colour rising in his cheeks. “Who says I’m looking for a wife?” he added belatedly.

“Darling, I’m an associate at Diggle, Diggle and Howarth, your Uncle’s solicitors, I know everything.”

“Then you know why I’m looking for a wife.” He pushed his pasta around the bowl, not looking at her.

“Yes, your Uncle’s will said you could only inherit if you were _married_ by the time you are thirty,” she said pointedly.

“There you go then.”

She gave him a long, considering look before shrugging and taking another mouthful of her wine and pulling a face again.

“Incidentally, why did you not take me to Potter and Finnegan’s restaurant? I was told you took all your dates there and I’d been rather looking forward to trying it; it’s supposed to be fabulous isn’t it? Unlike here.” She glanced around disdainfully at the restaurant. 

“I, er, I got rather sick of the sight of Potter, if you must know.” He drained his own glass.

“Really? I always thought you couldn’t get enough of the sight of Potter. You were always following him around at school.” Astoria had always been far too shrewd for her own good.

“I’ll have you know he was the one following me around – he’s the poof, not me.” He took a bite of his food.

“You know, darling, there really is nothing wrong with being gay these days.” She was staring at him as thought she could make him spill all his secrets – she probably could.

“I never said there was did I? It’s just that I happen not to be. Look, I’ve been invited to a party on Saturday, would you like to come with me?” he said, changing the subject.

“Ooh! A second date with the great Draco Malfoy? Nobody gets asked out twice! What a lucky girl I turned out to be.” If there was a trace of sarcasm in her voice, Draco chose to ignore it. “I thought you were taking Millicent?”

“How do you know that?” He was confused, surely none of his acquaintances would know about some Weasley party?

“I work with her, durbrain.” She smirked at him.

“Durbrain? That’s the best you can come up with?” 

“What can I say? There is something about you that brings out the childish insults.” She threw her napkin at him to emphasise her point.

“So you won’t come then?” He picked her napkin out of his dinner; he hadn’t wanted to finish it anyway.

“Are you planning on turning up with a girl on each arm? I suppose that’s one way to kill the ‘gay’ rumours. Either that or people will just think that you are over-compensating, but then, that’s nothing new for you, is it?”

“If you must know, Potter seems to fancy himself as a bit of a matchmaker and he wants to set Millie up with Dean Thomas.” 

“I can see that working. Does this mean that you’ve been spending more time with Potter than you would have led me to believe?”

“I told you, he fancies himself as a matchmaker. He keeps setting me up with people like Loony Lovegood.”

“Luna? What did the poor girl do to deserve that? You know, it doesn’t sound as though he’s trying too hard, maybe he wants you for himself?”

“Don’t be stupid, he knows I’m straight. Anyway, he’s spoken for.” 

“Not that you made a point of finding out or anything.”

“Of course not!”

“I have to go, I have a case to prepare for tomorrow.” She started to rise from the table.

“You still didn’t say if you were coming to Charlie’s with me?”

“You’re taking Millicent. Thanks for dinner.” She dropped a kiss in the general direction of his forehead and waved as she made her way to the exit.

Draco grumbled to himself as he got the bill, mentally noting that pure-blood girls always seemed to assume that he was paying, even if they earned a good salary. He silently cursed Potter for messing up his chances of a second date with Astoria – if the stupid specky git hadn’t told him to take Millicent he could have taken Astoria, ergo it was all Potter’s fault. Most things usually were.

* * *

Draco looked around the Burrow with distain. He’d always known the Weasleys lived in a hovel, but he’d never expected to actually set foot in it. To make matters worse, he was here alone. Astoria had turned him down, Millie had buggered off with Dean, and Potter had stood him up! Not that he was here as Potter’s date or anything, but still, the four-eyed git could at least have been here rather than throwing him to the lions, so to speak.

At least the punch was good, even if it had been made by George Weasley.

“Feeling abandoned?” a voice asked behind him. Turning around quickly he saw Astoria standing beside some sort of ghastly clock with too many hands.

“Tori! I thought you weren’t coming?” He threw his arms around the woman in a most un-Malfoy-like manner, desperately glad to see another Slytherin face among the sea of ginger heads. He was possibly a tiny bit pished. 

“No, I said I wasn’t coming with you. Ginny invited me,” she laughed, extracting herself from him embrace.

“Oh charming, you’d rather go to a party with the Girl-Weasel than me? You’re not… you know… are you?”

“No, Draco, I’m not ‘you know’. I didn’t come here _with_ Ginny. I should imagine she came with her fiancée. I came on my own – women can do that in the modern world you know.” She pushed a piece of cake at him but he shook his head – goodness only knew where Mother Weasley had got that from, he was fairly sure the Weasleys couldn’t afford a house-elf.

“Would you care for a drink?” he asked instead. The drinks on the other hand were probably safe – the alcohol would kill any Muggle-loving germs hanging around the place.

“Oh no, you’re not actually drinking George’s punch are you?” Astoria looked at the glass in his hand which only contained a few bits of fruit and something that George had described as a ‘jelly baby’, which seemed like a little extra pocket of alcohol swimming in a sea of alcohol.

“It’s actually surprisingly good.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “Especially the jelly babbies.”

“Riiight… Have you seen Charlie and Angelo? I wanted to give them their anniversary present.” 

“I think we’re supposed to leave them on the table over there.” Draco made a vague gesture that encompassed half the room.

“Oh, ok. I’ll be back.” He watched her head over to the present table and then she started chatting with Ginny Weasley and Seamus Finnegan. Seeing Finnegan made Draco wonder again where Potter was.

“Your luck with women is still holding up then, Malfoy? That’s two I’ve seen walk away from you as fast as possible,” an unwelcome but not unexpected person stopped in front of him.

“Oh joy, it’s my old friend Weasley.” Draco’s smile was more of a grimace, but it was the best Weasel was going to get.

“You might find quite a lot of people here called that. Not wishing to sound inhospitable or anything, but what the fuck are _you_ doing here?” Weasel wasn’t looking as pissed off as Draco might have expected.

“Inhoshpitable? Did Granger teach you that word?” He gave a small hiccough before giving his best Hermione Granger imitation, “‘Oh honestly, Ronald! Stop being so inhoshpitable to that gorgeous, sexy Draco Malfoy!’ I’m sure she’ll be very proud of you for using it in the correct context. And if you really must know, Potter invited me.” 

“If someone invites you to a party, you could at least call them by their first name.” Weasel frowned at him.

“What? You mean ‘Potter’ isn’t his first name? You know, if he invites someone to a party he could at least have the manners to show up. Where is the runty little bastard anyway?” He glanced about the room again but Potter still didn’t materialise.

“Hey! Don’t talk about Harry like that!” Weasel took Draco’s glass off him and sniffed it. “Is this George’s punch?”

“You knew who I meant though. Don’t try and tell me that Potter isn’t a short-arse. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a short-arse, there have been some very fine short-arses throughout history – look at Napoleon.”

Weasel gave him a considering look before replying, “You know, Hermione actually thought Napoleon was a Muggle? It’s one of the only times when she’s run off to the library and had to come back and admit I was right!”

“I can imagine that was quite satisfying; I spent five years trying to best Granger. I gave up trying in sixth year, lost interest for some reason. So where is Potty anyway?” Draco was getting tired of standing here, the floor in the Weasley house tilted in a most peculiar way and he wasn’t sure how they put up with it. He needed another drink.

“You seem awfully interested.” Weasel had gone back to studying him. “He’s tied up at work, if you really must know.”

“Ew, I now have unpleasant images of him and Finnegan getting kinky in the restaurant.” He really did not want the image of Finnegan’s pale arse in his head, but there it was anyway.

“Dear god, I hope not!” Weasley looked appalled.

Draco glanced over to reassure himself that Finnegan was indeed here and relaxed when he saw the sandy-haired Irishman with his arm slung around the youngest Weasley. Finnegan was standing awfully close to Ginny Weasley… it sure as hell didn’t look innocent! Then again, Seamus might be a renowned flirt but he was as camp as Gilderoy Lockheart and had probably never even thought of kissing a girl, let alone having an affair with one. Besides, how likely was it that he would cheat when he had Harry waiting at home?

They stood in silence for several minutes – it was probably the friendliest few minutes Draco and the Weasel had ever spent in each other’s company, and he wasn’t really sure why the lanky Auror was talking to him at all. Draco made a grab for another glass of punch from a nearby hovering tray.

“Look, Malfoy,” Weasley said at last, “I’m Harry’s best friend, he tells me stuff. Quite frankly it is none of my business what you two get up to, but if you mess him around or hurt him in any way, I will come after you and beat you to a bloody pulp, understand?” Weasley drew himself up to his full height, which was actually quite impressive.

“I don’t know what you think you know or what Potter has been saying, but you are quite correct, it is none of your business.” Draco swayed slightly as he drew himself up to his full height, which still wasn’t as tall as Ron. “However, I assure you there is nothing going on between Potter and I; I don’t seek for that team. Furthermore, I’m pretty sure Potter can look after himself.” Had Potter told Weasley about kissing him? He had no right to tell him stuff like that! He quickly downed his glass of punch.

“I’m serious, Malfoy. Just don’t even try it, ok?” Weasel gave him one last glare and strode off.

*

Forgetting all about Astoria and Millicent, Draco Apparated to Potter’s restaurant, determined to give the other man a piece of his mind.

He was surprised to find the door unlocked, wondering what had happened to Potter’s training in ‘constant vigilance’. He let himself in and made his way up to Potter’s flat.

“Shoddy security system you have here, I could have been anyone – a Death Eater or something, oh no, wait, I _was_ a Death Eater!” he sneered from the doorway.

“Draco? What are you doing here?” Potter looked up in surprise. He was sitting at the desk going over some paperwork with a half-full bottle of whisky and an empty glass beside him.

“I came to find out why you’ve been talking about me to Weasley.” Draco glowered at him.

“Ah. He wasn’t supposed to mention that.” Potter looked guilty.

“No, you weren’t supposed to tell him in the first place!” Draco said, pointing his finger in Potter’s general direction.

“Well sorry! You’re not the only one confused here you know.” Potter snapped back.

“What have you got to be confused about? You’re already gay!” Draco stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

“So are you! You’re just too scared to admit it.” Potter rose from the desk and stalked over to Draco. “ _I’m_ confused because I found myself really liking a bloke I used to hate, but I believed him when he told me he was straight and now I don’t know what to believe anymore, ok?” Draco took a step back.

He gulped. “Really liking?” 

“Yes!” 

“Oh.” Draco looked about him for something to say. “What are you doing here today anyway? It’s meant to be your day off.”

“Oh… I’m still having trouble getting the books to balance.” The fire seemed to go out of Potter.

“What? But I showed you where you were going wrong! I thought you said you had an accountant?” Draco really couldn’t see what Potter’s problem was; Undesirable No.1 should be raking it in.

“I have got an accountant, that’s the sodding problem!” Potter walked over to the sofa and sank down onto it, resting his head in his hands. “Alan, my accountant, seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth, Gringotts hates me and has frozen my accounts. I have a massive delivery coming tomorrow and the staff wages are due.” 

Unsure of what to do, Draco crossed to the sofa and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “There, there, Potter, I’m sure it can’t be this bad.”

“You’re right, I’m probably being paranoid – I know we’re making a profit, I wouldn’t have sold my house to finance the second restaurant if this one wasn’t doing well. It’s just that the goblins really do hate me because of all that stuff with the dragon and the sword of Gryffindor and so they won’t see me. My accountant’s fucked off to fuck knows where so they can’t see him either and I need to sort this out.” Harry sat back on the sofa and sighed.

“You sold your house? That’s a bit drastic!” 

“Yeah, well, why did you think I’d moved in here?” He gestured at the room in general. “Gringotts wouldn’t give me a mortgage either. Stop changing the subject, anyway, we were talking about you.” Potter determinedly stared at his hands, clearly not wanting to meet Draco’s eyes.

“I’m not changing the subject, you are! You could have asked for my help you know. And I bet the whisky isn’t helping.” Draco sat down next to Harry.

“I’d say you’ve had a few yourself.” Potter shifted on the sofa so he was facing Draco. “You were changing the subject because you don’t want to admit that you are attracted to me.” He cheekily put his hand on Draco’s knee and gave one of those little wonky half-smiles of his that made Draco’s insides do that strange flip-floppy thing. 

“When did you get so full of yourself, anyway? Is it completely inconceivable that someone might not be attracted to you?” Draco attempted to scoot away but the sofa really wasn’t that big.

“There are loads of people who aren’t attracted to me, I just don’t happen to think that you are one of them.” Harry moved in closer.

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Potter was very close to him now. Close enough to kiss him.

“Well, for a start, I can make you blush very easily," Harry said with a cheeky grin

“I have very pale skin; I often look like I’m blushing when I’m actually not.” Draco attempted muster his best disdainful voice but feared he actually sounded a little defensive and needy instead.

“All right then. You watch me. I catch you looking at me sometimes like you want to devour me.” Harry traced a line up Draco’s knee with the tip of his finger.

“I most certainly do not! If I watch you it’s because you are a git and I need to make sure you aren’t up to no good!” Draco slapped Harry’s hand away.

“Up to no good? Funny, that was always my excuse for watching you." Harry laughed triumphantly like he’d just seen the snitch and Draco hadn’t. "How about this one then, most straight blokes would punch me for doing this.” Potter turned his face up towards Draco’s and kissed him. Again. “See? That’s twice you’ve let me get away with that now,” Potter laughed before resuming the kiss.

Potter’s lips were soft, not as soft as a girl’s, but soft nevertheless. He hadn’t shaved today and his stubble stung Draco’s own lips in a way that should have repulsed him, but actually turned him on more than he cared to say. Potter smelt masculine, not unpleasant, just masculine – slightly musky with hints of aftershave or shower gel, peaty whisky, and just Harry, with an underlying spicy sent that no doubt came from working in a restaurant all day. Potter’s hair was unbelievably soft, and Draco knew that because his left hand had somehow found its way into the ebony locks, pulling Harry’s head closer to him. His body was firm and flat – no jiggling, bouncing breasts getting in the way, just a nice, toned chest pressing against his own, their bodies flush against each other. However, certain other noticeable bulges were trying to make themselves known – from both of them.

For the fact that any of this was happening at all, Draco decided to blame George Weasley. Whatever had been in that punch had obviously been potent stuff, designed to have him make a fool of himself and act completely out of character. For what happened next, he decided he could purely blame Potter. Potter and his lopsided grin and soft hair and luscious lips. Potter and his comments of a few days ago, ‘I bet you lie awake at night thinking about what you’d like to do to my arse.' Because he had been right, ever since that conversation Draco had lain awake at night thinking about all the things he could do to Potter’s arse, just as he was thinking about those things again right now. Potter had said he would let him. Gay or not, he couldn’t turn that down any more than he could deny the erection straining at the front of his trousers.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what happened to their clothes, but soon he noticed other things about Harry. His skin was smooth, not as satin-smooth as a woman's but smooth nonetheless, surprisingly. He had no hair on his chest, but his chest couldn’t have been less feminine with its distinct lack of breasts, and his skin tasted saltier, less perfumed. 

Harry was far better at sucking cock than any of the girls he had been with; he knew exactly where and when to apply pressure, not to suck too hard, not to let his teeth get in the way. Draco discovered he couldn’t last long with Harry down there as the other man licked his way down the underside of his cock before actually taking his balls into his mouth. When Harry deep-throated him – something Draco had previously believed only porn starts could do – he nearly came on the spot.

Potter pulled off him suddenly and smirked, before getting up and dragging Draco into his bedroom, shedding the remainder of his clothes as he went. That was when he discovered something else about Potter that might have been his favourite discovery yet – Harry was completely shaved. Draco wouldn’t have believed that he could be so turned on at the sight of a completely naked cock standing to attention like that, and yet as soon as he saw it he felt the need to return the favour.

Draco was clearly not as practised at giving a blowjob as Harry had been. He knew the basic principles and attempted to replicate Harry’s own moves, some of which caused an embarrassing choking fit. Harry simply laughed and suggested that Draco might need a little more practice before attempting that one again before kissing Draco. 

He thought the most erotic thing he’d ever seen might have been Harry lying back on the bed and hastily lubing and stretching himself for Draco’s cock. Draco moved as if in a dream, positioning himself on top of the Hero of the Wizarding World so that they were face to face with Harry’s legs flung over Draco’s shoulders. The sight of Harry spread out before him like that with his head thrown back so his hair fanned across the pillow and his reddened mouth open was nearly too much for Draco and he had to close his eyes. 

Now other differences came into play. Potter might be on his back, letting Draco fuck him like a girl, but he was hotter, tighter, and less wet than a girl. The little grunting sounds he made were definitely male and when Draco was finally fully inside him, there was a hard cock pointing straight at him, begging for attention. Harry’s green eyes pierced him as he leant in for another kiss.

Their coupling was fast and hard, they’d had too much to drink for it to be anything else. To Draco’s relief, Potter came first, working his own cock with his hand, coming in spurts across his chest. The sensations of Harry’s orgasm set off Draco’s and soon they were a panting heap of sweat and limbs.

“Draco? No offence, but you’re getting heavy.” Harry finally uttered the first proper words that had been spoken between them for some time. 

Draco reluctantly rolled off the other man. “That was pretty intense.”

“Yeah. Still sure you’re not gay?”

“Git.”

“Stop with the compliments already! You’ll embarrass me.” Harry grinned sleepily, kissing him yet again.

“How could you possibly be embarrassed after what we just did?”

“Shut up and go to sleep.” Harry snuggled in and curled his arm around Draco’s waist.

* * *

Draco hated hangovers. Particularly hangovers where you were achy and sticky like you’d just had a really good shag. Because he’d just shagged…

Fuck! 

He shagged Potter last night! How in the name of Morgana had he let that happen? Potter was, well, Potter! A BLOKE. George Weasley was going to die a long, slow, painful death for spiking his drink.

Potter was nowhere to be seen, but there was a cup of strong black coffee and a doughnut by the bed that he assumed was for him. He drank the coffee but left the doughnut before hastily dragging his clothes on and Apparating home.

He couldn’t believe he had let that happen! Ok, so he’d always had this thing for Potter and lately he’d been wanking to fantasies of the man, but that didn’t mean he had to go and act on it.

He couldn’t come out as gay – his parents would disown him and he would lose his only hope of income by not being able to meet the terms of his uncle’s will. Besides, Potter was with Finnegan. It wasn’t that Draco had any great love for Finnegan or even that he’d have any qualms about stealing his lover, but Potter and Finnegan ran that restaurant together and Draco really couldn’t see Potter jeopardising that for him. Furthermore, Potter evidently had no problem with cheating on his lovers, and Draco wouldn’t stand for that. He’d heard that monogamy wasn’t big in the gay community, but Draco hadn’t been brought up to share and he was damned if he was going to start now.

There really was only one thing for it. He would just have to carry on as if last night hadn’t happened. He could probably convince Astoria to marry him and nobody need ever know. Apart from Potter.

* * *

The next weekend he determinedly avoided Harry at the Falcons _vs_ Wasps match

* * *

“So, once again you don’t take me to Undesirable No.1. How unsubtle do a girl’s hints have to get?” Astoria asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s really not very good there; I thought you might prefer the opera.” He studied the stage before them through his omnioculars rather than looking her in the eye.

“No you didn’t, you’re avoiding Harry Potter. Why?”

“I’m not avoiding him. No more than normal, anyway. Shush now, it’s about to start.

It had now been two weeks

* * *

Three days later, Harry finally caught up with him at the Hogsmeade Christmas market.

“Draco, wait!” Potter grabbed his arm by the enchanted wooden-toy stall.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco asked, avoiding eye contact by feigning interest in some wooden elves which were singing in a very high pitch.

Harry panted, out of breath. “Why are you ignoring me? We had a fantastic night, and then you started avoiding me. What the hell is that all about?”

Draco glanced about and hastily pulled Harry to one side in case he was overheard.  
“I told you, Potter, I can’t be gay,” he whispered crossly. “I have my parents to think about and I have to get married in order to claim my inheritance. I’m seeing Astoria Greengrass.” He tried to ignore the look of hurt that flashed across the other man’s face.

“Why is this inheritance so important to you anyway?” Harry asked, running his fingers through his hair. Hair that Draco remembered to be so terribly soft.

“Because it will make me independently wealthy. I will finally be able to get out from my father’s shadow and be my own person,” Draco said, finally looking Harry in the eye.

“Right.”

“Look, I’m really sorry, Harry. If things were different…”

“Yeah, whatever, don’t worry about it.” 

Harry stalked off with a defiant set to his shoulders.

* * *

Draco was buying Astoria’s Christmas present in Boot & Beard, Diagon Alley’s most exclusive jewellers, when he spotted Potter and Finnegan arguing outside Gringotts.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the need to hear what the couple were saying, maybe Potter’s nosiness had rubbed off on him, maybe he didn’t like Potter arguing with anyone who wasn’t him, but he quickly made his excuses and left the shop.

Using all the stealth and cunning that came to him naturally as a Slytherin, and a quick Notice-Me-Not charm, Draco made his way over to Gringotts, hiding behind a convenient clown selling niffler balloons. He could easily make out Finnegan’s accent in the crowd.

“… I mean, for fek’s sake, Harry! How could you let this happen?”

A low rumble in response. Draco edged a little closer.

“Ah, right so, maybe it’s not all your fault, I admit didn’t realise he was going to rob us blind either, but you had more dealings with him than I did! Did you check out his references? Did you not notice anything odd about him? Or were you too busy checking out his arse?” Finnegan sounded annoyed.

“I was not checking out his arse! His references were good, he seemed like a nice bloke!” Potter’s raised voice made him easier to hear this time. 

“Well that’s just grand then. You know, maybe that’s your problem, Harry – you think everyone’s a ‘good bloke’ and deserves a chance, and meanwhile they screw you over because you’re a soft touch. I mean, you’re even friends with bloody Malfoy now! What happened to Harry ‘suspicious’ Potter?”

“Draco’s changed!” A smile crossed Draco’s face. “Besides, we’re not friends anymore so you’re safe.” The smile left as quickly as it had come.

“Yeah, _of course_ he has. Look, ok so it wasn’t fair to blame you, but what are we going to do – the business is about to go down the pan and Gringotts won’t lend us a sickle.” The balloon seller now had Draco in his sights and was trying to make a sale. He shook his head crossly at the man.

“Well, that bit sort of is my fault,” Potter was saying as a plastic niffler was waved in front of Draco’s nose.

“Yeah, you and your saving the world tendencies. What about Malfoy?” Finnegan was asking. Draco wondered if the Irishman had found out about him and Potter.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Seamus! Why are you worrying about Malfoy now? No, I don’t think he’s up to anything and we have more important things to worry about.” Potter started to move off down the street with Finnegan following.

“No, you arse. Malfoy’s as rich as Croesus, can you not tap him for a lend?” Finnegan started after Potter. Draco attempted to follow, but the balloon seller wouldn’t let him get away.

“What? You were all ‘don’t trust the big bad Malfoy’ a minute ago, now you want to borrow money off him?” he over heard Potter asking.

“Yeah, well beggars can’t be choosers, can they? It’s either swallow our pride and go cap in hand to Malfoy, or go back to the restaurant and tell everyone to go home and we’re sorry but we can’t pay them. Then we can floo around all the suppliers and tell them we can’t pay them either and then we can go over to New York and do it all over again! I haven’t got any money, and I know for a fact that you haven’t because that bastard …”

“I can’t ask Malfoy…”

They moved out of earshot and Draco was left having to buy a balloon, which kept attacking the shiny buttons on his coat.

* * *

“Draco, good to see you. I assume this must be Astoria?” Potter said in a forced-friendly voice. Against his better judgement, Draco had finally caved and brought Astoria to Undesirable No.1.

“Yes, Astoria was keen to try your restaurant, we were lucky to get in at such sort notice this close to Christmas.” Draco tried to ignore the looks Potter was sending him.

“Hi!” Astoria said brightly holding out her hand to Harry. She must have picked up on the tension between them; it would have been hard to miss it. “Draco has told me so much about you!”

Astoria looked about her as they sat down. “It is certainly very nice here. I like how the windows are charmed to look like we’re at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Is it the same view every night or do you change it?”

“We change it,” Potter replied with a too-polite smile directed at Astoria. "Customers can make requests when they book, the place that gets the most requests is where you end up eating for the night.”

“How delightful! Where did you request?” she enquired of Draco.

“I didn’t bother,” he mumbled in response. 

“Oh.” She glanced about, awkwardly. “Well, this certainly seems like a lovely place you have here, Harry.” 

The stilted conversation continued for a few minutes more before Potter was called away to talk to a couple of suited men.

Dinner was a quiet affair, despite his normally easy conversation with Astoria. He couldn’t help but watch Potter and Finnegan talking animatedly in the corner of the restaurant after the men had left, during which time Finnegan kept gesturing in Draco’s direction. He excused himself after the main course and went to the bathroom. On the way back he was accosted by Potter.

“Draco…” Potter caught his arm. 

“Please, Potter, don’t do this to me again.” 

“It’s not about that, this is important. I need your help.” Harry's, no Potter’s, eyes were big, but seemed to be avoiding settling in one place.

“Go on then,” Draco sighed.

“You remember I was having trouble with my accountant?” Draco nodded. “Well, it turns out he’s been stealing from me. The MLE officers turned up just now to say they’d arrested him.” Harry looked exceedingly uncomfortable, like he’d rather be chewing his own arm off than talking to Draco.

“What do you mean?”

“Just, well, the money’s sort of, well, uh – gone. He used the restaurant’s money to make some very bad investments in his own name, and he’s lost the lot. I’ve been subsidising the business from my personal accounts, I sold my godfather’s house to fund the New York restaurant and I’m flat broke. Look, I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t essential, but I’m desperate here. If I can’t get my hands on some ready cash A.S.A.P. then I won’t be able to pay my suppliers or staff. I’ll have to close the restaurant. Please, I wouldn’t ask but…”

“You want me to give you money?” Draco said flatly. Fucking typical, Potter was just like everyone else! Was that all the other man had been after from the word go? Finnegan was probably in on it, seduce Malfoy, get some cash off him. Just like Blaise Zabini had tried in sixth year, well, without the seduction bit, obviously. 

“No! Just lend. Please, Draco, you know I wouldn’t ask if I could think of any other way. We’ve put so much work into this place! Think of the knock on effect – all the people I can’t pay – hell, Seamus wants to get married, how’s that going to happen if the restaurant goes under?” Harry was pleading with him now. Draco had to look away, unable to hear anything past the fact that Harry was getting married to Finnegan. Getting married after he'd shagged Draco.

“Do you realise how much I’ve always wanted to have the great Harry Potter grovelling at my feet?” he said coldly. “Begging for money, Potter? I’d have thought that was beneath even you,” he sneered as his self-defence mechanisms kicked in. It bothered him, seeing Potter like this. Harry Potter didn’t ask for help, particularly from the likes of him, but surely the Gryffindor wouldn’t use him like this? Could it be genuine? The books had seemed a little off, but they weren’t that bad were they? He’d seen it for himself, the money should be there. But then, Potter and Finnegan had been talking about someone robbing them…

“Yeah, that’s right, Malfoy. For fuck’s sake, I thought we were at least friends, can’t you see how fucking difficult this is? I have nobody else I can ask – Gringotts won’t lend us a sickle. No one else I know even has that sort of money; you are the only person left!”

“Oh great, last resort, how very flattering!” Draco was starting to feel guilty now, had he misjudged this?

“D’you know what, forget I asked!” Harry’s eyes were bright and his cheeks flushed, whether with anger or humiliation Draco wasn’t sure. “I’ve lowered myself as far as I can possibly go, I knew I shouldn’t have fucking bothered, I suppose it was too much to hope that I meant anything at all to you.” He turn on his heel and started to walk away.

“Harry, wait!” Draco called after him. Harry turned back with a wary look. “Look, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“You’d get your money back,” Harry said quietly, not looking at him. “You don’t have to have anything to do with me. I’ll leave you alone to get on with your life and marry Astoria – she seems like a lovely girl.”

“Potter, Harry, you don’t understand, I can’t. Not I _won’t_ , I can’t. I’m not personally wealthy. I will be, once my father dies, which I hope won’t be for a good long while yet, or if I manage to convince Astoria to marry me before I’m thirty, but right now I only have my allowance, which won’t get you anywhere.”

Harry nodded once and walked off quickly without another word. Composing himself, Draco walked back to his table.

“Potter seemed eager to talk to you, have you two patched up your differences?” Astoria commented as he sat back down.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Draco, I’m not stupid, it’s obvious there is something going on between you two.”

“It is? How?”

“Well, let’s see. There’re the possessive looks he keeps throwing over here, the tension you could cut with a knife, the looks you throw at him when you think I’m not looking – shall I go on? What I don’t understand is, why are you sitting here with me?”

Draco, eyes wide, wished Astoria hadn't been such a good Slytherin. He swallowed, and looked away. “If I started dating a man my parents would kick me out faster than I could say Liberace.” He decided to throw caution to the wind and be honest with her. After all, he might be marrying her, she'd figure it out eventually. “If I had my own money it would be different, but I don’t and there aren’t too many people willing to employ an ex-Death Eater.” Draco said bitterly.

“So that’s why you are so keen to get your hands on this inheritance?” 

“Sort of, but of course in order to get that money I have to get married, so I still couldn’t be with Harry.” The arguments were starting to sound hollow even to him. 

“You know, Narcissa thinks you hung the sun in the sky. You could probably date a yeti and she still wouldn’t disown you. I don’t see her having a problem with you seeing Harry Potter,” she said. Draco made shushing motions as the waiter came over with their bill.

“It’s not my mother who’s in charge of funds, and my father happens to be a total bigot, or had you forgotten that?” 

“Oh honestly, Draco! Surely you realise by now that Lucius does what he’s told; especially since the last time Lucius tried to take charge he got you all mixed up with Tom Riddle. Get your mother on your side and you’ll be fine.” 

“If I end up out on the street, I’m coming to live with you!” The waiter came back and took their cash, thanking Draco and Astoria as they stood up to leave.

“That depends on your shadow. If Potter’s not interested in you, why does he keep giving you puppy dog looks?” She turned and gave him her best lawyer stare.

“There is nothing between Harry and me – he’s engaged to someone else,” he said as they left the restaurant, hailing a taxi outside.

“Really? Harry Potter is engaged? I hadn’t heard that.” Astoria got that look that girls get when gossip is in the air.

“Maybe it’s not public information, Potter just told me – whatever you do don’t tell anyone, please,” Draco said quickly. Potter had not given him permission to share that information. Besides, Harry and Finnegan getting married really wasn’t something Draco wanted to think about.

“Does it bother you?” Astoria didn’t look at him as the taxi pulled up.

“It’s not up to me who they tell,” he replied flippantly, deliberately misunderstanding her. They climbed in the cab and Astoria gave her address to the driver.

“You know what I mean, Draco. Can’t you admit your true feelings, just once? Even to yourself?” She fixed a steely gaze on him now.

“Why? What difference does it make? I can’t be with Harry, I couldn’t even tell anyone even if I were in love with him.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“In love with Harry?”

“No, of course not, don’t be stupid.” He sat back in his seat and stared out the taxi window as Greater London whipped by.

Because he didn’t, did he? How could he possibly be in love with Potter? Potter infuriated him, always had done; you couldn’t be in love with someone who infuriated you, could you? One night of drunken sex that he couldn’t stop thinking about did not make for life-long love. 

“Honestly?”

“Yes! Harry is better off with Git-Face anyway. I’ll marry some girl and father a child and we’ll forget any of this ever happened and everything will be rosy, ok?”

Harry could marry Seamus. That would be fine. He was fine with that. Harry and Seamus. Sure. Draco would be getting married soon himself so why should he care? It wasn’t like Draco would be there to see Seamus put his pikey hands all over Harry anyway. Once they were both married to their respective partners, they’d probably have nothing more to do with each other. That was fine too. Honestly. 

He didn’t need Harry Potter in his life – it wasn’t like the last few months had made him feel alive for the first time since the war or anything like that. Just because he could be himself with Harry, it didn’t mean anything. 

Although he would miss their conversations. 

And other stuff.

Who needed to feel alive anyway? 

Feeling alive was hugely over-rated. 

As were brilliant green eyes and soft black hair and sexy mouths and taut chests… and nice cocks…

“Earth to Draco!” Astoria said loudly.

“Huh?” He pulled himself out of his stupor and looked over at her.

“I said, if Potter isn’t after your body, why did he want to talk to you?”

Draco sighed and decided that he could trust her. “They are in financial trouble, Potter and Finnegan; something to do with a dodgy accountant. Potter wanted money.”

“You’re going to invest in Undesirable? Wow, what a fantastic business opportunity.” Astoria sounded impressed.

“No, not invest, he wanted a loan. I don’t have the ready cash though.”

“Harry Potter asked to borrow money? From you? Has hell frozen over?” Now she sounded incredulous. He supposed it did sound rather unlikely now he thought about it.

“Very funny.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe he should have heard Potter out.

“Come on, Draco – things must be pretty serious to do that. From what I hear he likes to stand on his own two feet. Was their accountant Alan Tweedy? That conman who ripped off half of Diagon Alley. Nobody’s going to get a single sickle back from that one, he’s as crooked as Dumbledore’s nose. Even Madame Malkin might go out of business because of him. And I suppose that if Potter lives in the flat above the restaurant, he could lose his home along with his business,” she said as the cab came screeching to a halt outside her house. 

“He seemed more worried about all the people he won’t be able to pay,” Draco replied as he paid the fare and they climbed out of the taxi.

“You couldn’t raise the money? If he was desperate enough to ask you, he must have had no other alternative,” Astoria said as she unlocked the wards on her front door. “And you seem to care about him, surely there must be something we could do?”

“I can try, but not many people can out-Slytherin Father, and he would never let me have that sort of money to give Potter. I can try and get him to invest in the business, but he’s likely to say no out of spite, and I doubt Potter would want Father involved in his restaurant. I could try and raise money somehow. My best hope would be Uncle Leo’s will, and I’d need to find someone willing to marry me at very short notice to get the money in time.” 

“Well, I think we could try and come up with a plan before we go that far, but if the worst comes to the worst, _I’ll_ marry you!” She motioned Draco inside.

“Really?” 

“Really. But let’s discuss a few details before we get carried away, shall we?”

* * *

A smart tawny owl dropped a thick cream-coloured envelope on the table. A wedding invitation. He opened it and read in silence.

Draco tore up his list of potential brides and cast _incendio_ at it.

* * *

“Come on, Harry, open up, I know you are in there!” Draco yelled, banging on the door to Harry’s restaurant.

“Draco? What do you want? It’s half past seven in the morning!” Harry’s dishevelled head appeared round the door, blinking mole-like in the early-morning sun.

“Can I come in?” Draco barged his way into the restaurant and headed towards Harry’s flat. “I’ve created a new list – a shortlist, if you will. A very short list.”

“What? What list? What are you on about?” Harry followed him looking grumpy. “It’s a bit early to be drinking, Draco.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me Finnegan was marrying Ginny Weasley?” Draco waved the wedding invitation under Harry’s nose as he pushed past. “I thought you said he was your partner? Are you ok? Was he cheating on you? Do I need to hex him?”

“Huh? Me and Seamus? Are you kidding? Seamus isn’t even gay; he’s my _business_ partner!” Potter exclaimed in a sort of shocked stutter.

“So you’re not in love with him?” Draco pressed his point to make sure.

“Why would I shag you if I was in love with him? What the hell are you going on about, Malfoy?” Potter shook his head. 

“Never mind,” Draco exclaimed as he spun round to face Harry at the top of the stairs. “Back to my list! I need to run it by you. If we’re going to get the money to save your restaurant then I need to get married quickly. Then I thought that rather than simply lending you the money, I could invest in the business, and then I could take care of the financial side of things. Obviously I wouldn’t be an accountant or anything, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Financial Director’…” Draco turned to go into the flat.

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, grabbing Draco’s arm. “You’re going to help me? You said you couldn’t help.”

“Yes, well I’ve been thinking of strategies and I’ve decided that I need to get married.” Draco shrugged Harry’s hand off his arm, irritated that the other man wouldn’t let him finish. 

“But you were already planning on getting married.” Harry moved his hand as though to push his glasses up his nose but stopped when he realised he wasn’t wearing them and settled for blinking at Draco.

“Yes! That’s the point!” Draco huffed in frustration. “I nearly have a lot of money at my disposal, all I have to do is get married and the money is mine and I can invest it in the restaurant.”

“That’s brilliant, Draco, thank you.” Potter sounded a little off and refused to meet Draco’s eyes as he pushed past to get back into his flat. 

“Hey! I’m rushing this through for you, Potter.” Draco said, feeling irritated, although now he looked at Harry properly he couldn’t help but notice the huge bags under his bloodshot eyes and the sort of grey quality to his skin. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, or possibly more.

“I’m sorry, Draco, I thrilled that you’ll help us, really, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” Harry offered him a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This restaurant is the most important thing in my life at the moment, thank you. You’d better come in.” Harry rubbed his face tiredly as he stood back to let Draco in.

“Well, I’ve been speaking to Astoria, and she’s pointed out a few important facts that I’d totally missed! I’m telling you, that girl is brilliant.” Draco decided to push on, despite Potter seeming less thrilled than he proclaimed to be. 

“Oh good! I’m so glad you are getting on so well with little miss perfect,” Potter replied sourly. “It sounds like you’ve made your choice, so why do you need my input?”

“Here is my new list.” Draco pulled his new improved list out of his pocket and thrust it at Harry, who refused to take it.

Why do you need my input? No offence here, Draco, I’m delighted that you want to help, but I’ve only just woken up and it makes no difference to me who you marry.” 

“Well, it might do if you read it.” Draco tried to push the piece of paper into Harry’s hand.

“I left my glasses in the bedroom when you woke me up.” Harry folded his arms across his chest and glared mutinously at Draco. “Why do I have to read it, anyway?”

“Because I want you to understand!” Draco all but yelled in his frustration. “I want to marry someone perfect for me, and I think I’ve finally found that person and you need to tell me if I’m right! Because as far as I’m concerned, we’d get married eventually anyway – the whole thing with the money and the restaurant only determines the date. And yes, it’s all a little rushed and ideally, we’d take things slower. I know we didn’t always get on so well, and we’ve only ever even slept together once, but I feel it in my gut that this is right!” Why wouldn’t the stupid tosser just read it? It would all make sense if he just cooperated.

“Look, this is all just fabulous, Draco, I’m really happy for you, honestly. But I was up late last night trying to sort this mess out and I’m really tired, ok?” Potter said tonelessly as he walked through to the little kitchen and started to make coffee.

“No, wait listen,” Draco followed him, unfolding his very short shortlist and beginning to read, “‘Pros: Gorgeous, funny, intelligent, kind, brave. The sexiest, most talented hands I’ve ever come across, and the wickedest tongue.” He raised his voice a little to be heard over the noise of Harry banging cups about. “We could talk forever and never get bored, except for all the times we’re making love.’” Draco blushed, it hadn’t sounded quite so corny when he’d written it. “‘My perfect equal, my perfect opposite, my perfect match.’ You see?” 

“Draco, please,” Harry closed his eyes with a pained look, “I can’t do this, not now, I just can’t. My life is going down the toilet; I can’t cope with you rubbing my nose in it too.”

“‘Cons:’” Draco read on, “‘My parents might hate me, but I’m hoping they’ll come round.’ There are probably others, I dare say, but that’s the only one I could think of. I guess we’ll just have to sort out the others when we come to them.”

“Malfoy…” Potter’s voice cracked.

“‘Description: Beautiful. A bit on the short side, around 5ft 8…’”

“Five eight is not short!” Potter finally snapped, picking on a completely irrelevant point as usual.

“Yes, well, that as may be. Let me finish, ‘The softest, blackest hair I’ve ever seen…’”

“But…” Harry started, but Draco ignored him and continued,

“‘…it looks like ink, especially when it’s spread out across my pillow. Eyes I could happily drown in, a brilliant, beautiful emerald green, like the tropical sea. His smile lights up my world, because he is my world and I think I might love him.’”

Harry’s own green eyes had snapped up and he watched Draco intently now. Finally, he snatched the list from Draco’s hand and read it again in silence.

“Is this some sort of fucking wind up?” Harry looked like he was considering throwing the kettle at Draco.

“No!”

“We slept together and then you avoided me for weeks! I asked for your help and you ran away – do you know how difficult it was for me to even ask you in the first place? Half of my friends telling me not to trust you an inch and the other half telling me to be a proper Gryffindor and do what’s right for everyone else involved! Personally, I would have rather chewed my own foot off than ask for money, especially from you, and you made me feel about two inches tall! And now what? You felt like kicking me in the teeth again just for fun? Yesterday you couldn’t even admit that you were gay, and now you supposedly want to get married?” Harry was starting to run out of steam.

Draco stepped forward and kissed Harry square on the mouth. “Maybe it’s time to start doing what I want rather than what my mother wants!” He cupped Harry’s face with his hand so the other man couldn’t look away. “I’m nearly thirty and I’m still living at home on an allowance, dating the women my mother tells me to and worrying about what my father would say if he discovered I was in love with a man. And do you know what? I’ve finally realised that I don’t care.” He sighed and glanced down for a moment, steeling himself to say what he’d come here for. “I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” He looked Harry straight in the eye. “I’ve been getting everything wrong for so many years and wasting so much time, so to hell with everything; I want you.” He knew Harry must be able to feel his hand shaking where it was still touching his face.

“You love me?” Harry blinked once, seemingly otherwise unable to move.

“Yes! I think so, I’m not sure, this is all a bit new to me. Look, Potter, Harry, I know it’s probably too soon,” Draco started talking as fast as possible, trying to convince Harry, “but Tori pointed out that I only have to be married, it doesn’t have to be to a woman, and then I found out that Finnegan is marrying Ginny Weasley and not you at all, so you were free and if I have to marry someone it really might as well be you, and I know I’ve rejected you too many times and I wouldn’t blame you at all if you rejected me now, but please, I’m so sorry, just think about it and mpmph…” Draco was cut off mid plea by the sudden pressure of Harry’s mouth on his.

“Yes,” Harry whispered against his lips, “Oh hell, yes.” Then they were kissing again. And they didn’t stop for quite a long time.


End file.
